Fics from the Phucky Archive
by CeliaEquus
Summary: A series of drabbles and three-sentences fics originally posted on the Phucky Archive 'Arm and Arm' on Tumblr. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this. STORY BEING DELETED BY MARCH 2016. SEE AUTHOR PROFILE FOR DETAILS.
1. Bad Dreams

"Bad Dreams"

Phil woke in a cold sweat, shaking in someone's arms, as he reached out for a man he couldn't possibly hope to catch; safety only registered when he was finally able to hold on to something, hands, as a familiar voice crooned calming words.

"I… I dreamt that you… were falling, but… but I couldn't _catch_ you because my hand was gone, and I… just wanted to let go, because you shouldn't be alone, you should _never_ be alone, they can't take you away from…" and he trailed off as sweat and tears mixed on his cheeks.

"Don't," Bucky whispered, holding Phil tighter and letting him squeeze the hell out of Bucky's hand, "don't ever jump, `cause we'll never be apart, no matter what happens, okay?"

* * *

 **The first three-sentence fic I wrote for the Phucky Archive on Tumblr. I've decided to start posting the stuff I've written on fan fiction sites, rather than just leaving them on Tumblr when the blog doesn't have many followers.**

 **Please review! Most of the stories will either be significantly canon divergent or will contain spoilers. I hope you enjoy them all.**


	2. Shipping Names

**Question from elusivemuse89: 'Just imagine if the Avengers discovered shipping and looked up the names of each ship involving them. Bucky and Phil would never live it down.'**

"Shipping Names"

"How did they even find out my name?" Phil asked, staring over Natasha's shoulder at the StarkPad screen.

"Close up, cleaned up security footage of an ID card when you bought celebratory alcohol, and someone recognized you from the flour incident," she replied dryly.

"…Please tell me you're joking." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. "Goddamnit. Call myself a SHIELD agent."

"Hey, are you in any of the ship names?" Tony called across the room. "Because Cap and me, we're Stony." Steve made a face. "Me and Pepper – which is 'canon', but not as popular – we're called Pepperony."

"Just checking," Natasha said, flicking through the pages. "Let's see. With Tony you're Phony." Tony snorted into his drink and Phil's eyes widened in horror. "With Steve, you're Capsicoul."

Steve's head fell against the back of the sofa with a thump, and Bucky burst out laughing.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Tony said incredulously.

"And…" Then Natasha's shoulders began to shake, and she covered her mouth, but it wasn't enough to disguise the fit of giggles. That was the most alarming part of this conversation so far, which had been pretty damn alarming all the way along.

"What?" he asked, wary of the answer. Natasha pulled herself together as only she could, and showed Phil what she'd found."

"The couple name for you and Bucky is Phucky," she said.

Steve choked on air, Bucky fell off the sofa, and Phil needed to sit down. Tony's reaction… well, the less said about that, the better.

* * *

 **I do in fact answer questions and prompt challenges on the blog, although I've only had two so far, so there isn't much to show for it.**

 **Please review!**


	3. The Artist

"The Artist"

Steve looked up from his initial sketch, pencil pausing over the cushion behind Bucky.

When Steve's best friend was taken by the enemy, he sustained temporary amnesia due to traumatic injury. They all thought he was dead, when he'd in fact escaped and managed to get back to America. Phil had found Bucky, helped rehabilitate him, and eventually his memory returned.

So Phil had reunited them, and hung around at Bucky's insistence. It took _months_ before Phil realised that Bucky was flirting with him, and that it wasn't just gratitude.

Now here they were, Bucky curled around Phil on the sofa, both of them dozing, and utterly oblivious to Steve drawing their picture.

Well, he had to catch this moment, didn't he? Prosthetic fingers entwined with flesh, Bucky's nose buried behind Phil's ear, Phil's tiny, soft smile as breaths tickled his neck.

Once the drawing was done, he considered turning it into a painting. But he settled on leaving the sketch on the coffee table, and retreated to his room. It was one image he would never forget.

* * *

 **Subtle AU, where Bucky was an ordinary soldier, Phil's a random citizen, and Steve is an artist. Some fluff, since I usually write angst. In fact, the only way to write non-angsty stuff in MCU seems to be a non-powered AU.**

 **Please review!**


	4. Window Washing

"Window Washing"

Natasha's raised eyebrow her opinion of Phil's obsession fascination with the man washing the window, but it's not like he could help it; the guy was a work of art, muscles obvious beneath the tight, cream-coloured shirt, and Phil tried so hard not to imagine that shirt getting soaked through, and licking a solid, wet chest… but it wasn't an obsession.

"If you asked him out, he would say yes," Natasha said, and Phil lowered his eyes, fiddling with his tie, "since I know for a fact that he wears those shirts just so you'll ogle him," which caused him to blush when Bucky caught him staring, and winked.

"Nonsense," he said, "not to mention all the complications that could bring," which he punctuated with a sigh when his co-worker left his office to clean the other side of the windowpane in his door, giving Phil an excellent view of his ass, damn him.

* * *

 **Another three-sentence fic. Couldn't help going for the cliché of office worker lusting after window washer, with the twist being that Bucky was cleaning his own window because he's weird like that.**

 **Please review!**


	5. Forgotten the Day

"Forgotten the Day"

Why Bucky didn't go straight to Steve he would never know. At first, he reacted appropriately.

"Phil just _left_!" Bucky said, flailing his arms. "I woke up, and he told me to stay in bed as long as I wanted, and that he'd be back later. I remember that. But when I _did_ wake up, _two hours later_ , he still wasn't back!"

"What have you tried?" Steve asked, frowning, his arms crossed as Bucky began to pace. "Bucky, have you tried calling him?"

"Of course I have, Steve! I've called seven times since I found out he was missing. What if he's been kidnapped, or hurt, or k—" He stopped himself there, not wanting to consider that possibility.

"Coulson's not the type to run away from a fight, run scared at all," Steve muttered.

"We didn't have a fight," Bucky said, stopping abruptly. "Not one little spat. Nothin'. Something's gotta be wrong. Why won't he answer his phone? At least if someone answered it asking for ransom, we could try tracing the call, find Phil and bring him home. But we can't, because it's like his phone isn't on at all! JARVIS refuses to help, and I've asked Natasha and Clint and Bruce and _none_ of them have any clue where he is. Natasha just looked… blank, like usual. Clint almost smirked, and I nearly punched him for the… the implication that Phil can take care of himself, when he _know_ he can get hurt. Bruce just said he was sure everything was okay."

"I'm sure it is, Bucky," Steve said, even though his brow was still lined. "I can't think why he'd disappear, today of all…" His expression suddenly cleared, and Bucky saw his lips twitching at the corners. "Buck."

"Yeah, Steve?"

"Has Coulson been… distant at all the last couple of days?"

"`Bout a week by now," Bucky said, his heart sinking. "You think he wants to… to break it off with me?"

"What? No! No, of course not. He'd never do that, he's too stuck on you. But think, Bucky. What's special about today?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I dunno. Is it International Hide and Seek Day? Am I supposed to remember something like that? Ah hell, Phil should've told me."

"I don't think it's that, Bucky," Steve said, and he patted him on the shoulder. "Why don't you go put on something a bit nicer, huh?"

Bucky looked down at the old shirt and jeans he was wearing. "Why?"

"When you look better, you feel better."

"Then why does Clint hate wearing white tie and tails?"

"No idea. Just go get changed. I'll try calling Coulson for you."

Bucky didn't really feel all that much better, but if he had to go rescue his lover, he may as well look more like a knight in shining armour than a knight in… well, a ratty t-shirt. From Phil's youth, apparently. He liked seeing in it, and if he didn't answer the next call, Bucky had been planning to text him the picture, just in case he _was_ sore at Bucky for some reason. Make him come home from work early, even though Agent May said that he wasn't in today. But she could've been covering for him. Who knew?

"Sir, he is back," JARVIS said. Bucky's head jerked up.

"Phil's back?" he said.

"Yes, sir. If you would go to the common lounge, you will find him there."

So nervous he could've thrown up, Bucky caught the elevator to the usual level, and as soon as he stepped out he damn near bumped into Phil. Well, at least his lover his smiling, and he was dressed nicely. That was… if not encouraging, some kind of a relief anyway.

"Where's you been?" Bucky asked, twiddling his thumbs together. Phil took his left hand, and pulled Bucky along.

"Co-ordinating," he replied. One word replies never boded well, but he couldn't think what this one meant. It wasn't the usual sharp 'Yes' or 'No' that he'd get out of Phil after doing something stupid during battle.

"Co-ordinating what?" he said apprehensively. Phil chuckled. That was good, right?

"This," he said. "Don't worry. I know you don't like big noises at home, in case they trigger something. I kept it as low-key as possible when living in the same building as Tony Stark."

"What d'you mean?"

Before they entered the common area, Phil leaned in and pecked Bucky on the lips.

"Happy birthday," he murmured. Bucky didn't have time to register that before he was led into the lounge, where there were balloons, a banner saying 'Happy birthday, Bucky!', a table groaning under the weight of stacked plates of food, and all their friends gathered around in party hats and holding wrapped parcels.

"It's… it's my birthday?" he said. Then he face-palmed with his free hand. "Shit. It's my birthday."

"Thought you might forget. Decided you deserved something a little special." This time, Phil kissed his cheek. "Hope you like it."

* * *

 **Prompt from Anonymous: 'Phil is super busy making sure Bucky's birthday is super special. Bucky, who forgot about his own birthday, assumes the worst and rallies the Avengers to look for him. The Avengers may or may not know what Phil is up to and are either humouring Bucky or are equally worried. (Like, "really, Phil? You couldn't call to let me know you hadn't been kidnapped?" – "I sent a text, Bucky!")'**

 **Only a mini-fic response, just from Bucky's POV, but I don't think I did too badly. Nothing about the texts – I forgot that bit, caught up writing the rest of it – but Bucky was appropriately worried and the others were appropriately in-the-know or just plain worked it out.**


	6. Soulmate 1

"Soulmate 1"

"Do you remember soulmateship?"

Bucky frowned. "I… not really?"

"Everyone is born with a soulmark on their left palm," Steve said, holding out his hand to show Bucky the 'Oh my God, you're adorable' written there. "The first words your soulmate will say to you."

"Soulmate?"

His heart ached for his friend; the shell of him, really. It made him even angrier that HYDRA took this from him.

"Your true love," he said. "Any kind of love, but usually the romantic type. No matter who's born first, the words there from the beginning, and most people get to meet their soulmates. Not everyone, but most." He watched as Bucky traced the words with his thumb. "A lot of people think it's just an old-fashioned superstition to keep the words secret, and only show them after you've found your other half…"

"But you don't agree," Bucky said.

"I found my girl the other day," Steve said. "But until then, yeah, I kept the glove on."

Bucky sat back, nodding. "I don't really remember it, but maybe it'll start to come back to me."

"I hope so," he said. "`Cause you never showed me yours, and…"

He trailed off, using his eyes to indicate Bucky's prosthesis.

"So it's gone?" Bucky said. His expression didn't change.

"People who lose their left hand, or arm, don't get their soulmark back," Steve said haltingly. "Their soulmate is still out there – sometimes they've met them – but even if they haven't taken a picture, they usually remember the mark."

"But I don't."

"No." Steve put on his determined face. "Whish is why we have to help you remember."

* * *

It took awhile, but now that Bucky had seen a few soulmarks, knew what they meant, and read up the lore, he eventually remembered most of his soulmark. Not all, but hopefully enough, and Steve said that his handwriting was the same scrawl as before.

In the meantime, they'd found out that SHIELD was back up and running under the directorship of someone named Coulson, who was apparently supposed to be dead, making all the original Avengers angry. Bucky couldn't understand why.

"But… people usually don't stay dead," he said, earning a few glares. "Fury, Pepper, Pietro." He pointed to himself. "Me? I don't understand why you're upset. Shouldn't you be happy? I thought you liked him?"

"He didn't tell us he alive," Clint said, clutching his hands into fists. Bucky tilted his head.

"And?" he said. "I don't blame `im, if you're all gonna act like this when you meet `im."

They went into Coulson's office one or two at a time. Steve and Buky went in third, since Natasha and Clint were still seething, and apparently wanted to make him squirm with anticipation. It seemed petty to Bucky, but what did he know about it?

"Captain Rogers," Coulson said. He was rapping the fingers of his right hand on the desk, left arm partially hidden beneath his jacket. It was pretty cool inside; Bucky couldn't blame for him that.

"Agent Coulson," Steve said, his tone colder than the room. "Sorry, _Director_ Coulson."

"I've heard that a few times today," Coulson muttered. He cleared his throat, and half-smiled when he met Bucky's eyes. "Never thought I'd meet you. It's a real honour, sir."

Bucky hadn't told anyone, and there was no way HYDRA could've known. As far as he could remember, his arm had been left behind at the scene, probably become fish food, and there was… there was no way. He tried to keep breathing evenly, but Steve must've noticed something was wrong, because he murmured Bucky's name. He just shook his head, and saw the concern on Coulson's face.

"I can't show you the words," he blurted out. He heard Coulson's breath hitch. "They were… I can't show you." Damn it, couldn't he be more eloquent than that. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he swallowed deeply before looking up against. He gestured vaguely to his arm, to the metal hand peaking out from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie. Coulson… chuckled. He was laughing at it. Bucky itched to run away and hide, anything so he didn't have to face this. Why'd he think it was a good idea to speak at all?

"`Fraid I can't, either," Coulson said. Then he moved his left arm, and… oh. His left hand was missing. No prosthetic replacement, either; just a stump halfway up his lower arm. The end of the sleeve was pinned up. Steve gasped.

"We… didn't know about that," he said. "At least I didn't. You… you didn't tell us."

"What was the point?" Coulson said, though his eyes didn't move from Bucky's. "I'd prefer you treat the same as you did before."

"We would've gone easier on you—"

"Exactly my point." He broke eye contact to stare at the desk instead, and tucked his arm back into his jacket. "I'm sure you want to send someone else in."

"I wanna stay," Bucky said. The time for spontaneous action had come. Coulson's eyebrows rose. "You're my soulmate. Or… well, those were my words. Couldn't remember all of `em, but I do now, and… I'm sure you'll wanna see my writing, make sure it matches. I don't have a picture of mine, but I swear, you really did say them. You did! Honest!"

"I believe you," Coulson said softly. "I can show you the photograph I have of mine. Here's paper and a pen." He deftly pulled some from a drawer, and Bucky scribbled down what he could remember while Coulson did something on his phone. They compared the handwriting on the paper with the picture on the phone, and it was a definite match. Bucky felt joy welling up inside. He thought he'd lost this. "Do you want me to—"

"No," he said. "I trust you. Besides, we'd have been able to tell later on."

"I…" Coulson's cheeks turned pink. "If you want to."

"Right now?"

"Uh—"

"I know that's not what you meant, but if I learned anything from the war – and everything else – it's that we could die any day. I don't wanna waste time. Do you?"

"I certainly don't."

"So…?" He trailed off, hopeful. Coulson hesitated, and then smiled.

"Yes," he said. Bucky was incredibly tempted to pump his fist in the air, and only refrained because it would look weird.

"Lead on to your rooms, then," he said. Coulson looked thrown for only a moment, and glanced at the door. "Phil?"

"…Don't say my name like that, or you'll only ever get your own way."

"What do I tell the others?" Steve asked as he preceded them to the door, opening it like the gentleman he really wasn't.

"That I'm getting to know my soulmate."

"In every way," Bucky said, waggling his eyebrows.

* * *

 **I had no idea how much I'd written. This goes for over 1000 words! I can't find how to do the 'read more' line on Tumblr, because it's changed or something, so I have to keep the chapters shorter, and then post the longer stuff on fan fiction sites and post links on the blog.**

 **Anyway. Please review! There are more soulmate fics to come, because writing 'Fate Has a Twisted Sense of Humour' has affected me, apparently.**


	7. Fudge

"Fudge"

Bucky stared at the bed, where Phil was lounging in only sleep pants, nothing else. Well, _nearly_ nothing else…

"F… fu…"

"I think the word you're looking for is 'fudge'," Phil said. "It was supposed to be, anyway, but then I decided that warm, gooey, chocolate-y goodness could be used for _far_ more… entertaining purposes." He looked Bucky up and down with a small smirk. Bucky was still trying to get his brain to work.

"Enter… yeah…" He swallowed, and licked his lips. Damn super senses, the chocolate smelt so _good_ , and dripping all over Phil's chest like that was kind of breaking him. Not just kind of, to be honest.

"That an invitation?" Phil asked, his eyes crinkling in obvious amusement.

* * *

 **For International Fudge Day. I've written a few drabbles and three-sentence fics based on the special/funny day of the year.**

 **Review, review, review! Damn it, it's late at night and yet I suddenly want to make fudge… bother.**


	8. Broken Toys

"Broken Toys"

After some scandal involving a forgotten library book, Maria had been forbidden to play with her toys for two weeks. And so they remained, cramped in her toy box, waiting for their little girl to come back to them. At least there had been time to say goodbye, so they knew it was temporary.

She had the biggest heart in the world, taking in the toys nobody else wanted: the broken, the dented, the badly painted, the leftovers at garage sales. She was also very orderly, and organized them by type of damage so that she would know if anyone went missing.

Unfortunately for the Agent, that meant that he was always propped up close to the Winter Soldier, and invariably faced him, while the Winter Soldier never looked at the Agent.

The Agent, if a toy had lungs, would have sighed over his lost cause. If only the Winter Soldier would look at him, maybe he would become as enamoured. But the Agent wore only a suit, and had a badge and gun. The Winter Soldier had a much bigger one, he was all in black, and he had a fancy red star on his arm. He had much more to recommend him than the Agent.

But the Agent pined nonetheless, hoping that maybe, someday, he'd be able to play with the Winter Soldier properly. That someday, maybe, he would be the one being watched.

* * *

Unless Maria was there, the toys couldn't move; so no matter how much he strained, the Winter Soldier couldn't even turn his head.

Somehow, he always ended up facing a bit away from the Agent. He knew the Agent was equally favoured among the toys, so it just seemed to be back luck that the Winter Soldier could never quite see him. Only out of the corner of his eye, which was not in the least bit satisfying.

It wasn't curiosity. Not… just curiosity. He'd seen the Agent plenty of times outside of the box, especially when Maria wanted to play Secret Spies with them.

But the Winter Soldier was sure the Agent must have been tired of always looking at him. It's not like the Winter Soldier was particularly nice to look at. They all had their scratches and breaks, which Maria and her father tried their best to fix, but the Winter Soldier hated his clunky replacement arm that started to squeak if Maria forgot to oil it, and he hated that red star sticker. It was too… red. Like that one time Maria accidentally cut herself and cried. There was bad red that time.

The Winter Soldier wished his start was the same colour as the Agent's eyes. That would be nice.

So he sat there, frustrated, for the two weeks Maria was grounded, and finally got a glimpse of the Agent when Maria took them all out of the box, saying how sorry she was, and that she would be more careful in the future. But then the Winter Soldier's arm squeaked loudly, and he wanted desperately not to see the Agent's face at the embarrassing sound it made.

* * *

 **As I said on Tumblr, no idea where to go from there. And what the hell was I thinking when I came up with this story idea? No clue. Anyone got any suggestions on how to continue?**

 **Please review!**


	9. Soulmate 2

"Soulmate 2"

Bucky opened the door cautiously. Had the man in stripes and the one with wings finally found him?

No. It was a man in a suit, smiling pleasantly. Bucky was hesitant to smile back, but the guy looked relatively harmless. And even if he wasn't, Bucky could handle him, easy. So he opened the door wider and cocked his head; better to let the stranger talk first.

"Welcome Wagon."

He struck first, left fist aiming for the man's face. The smile dropped as he raised his arms to protect himself, but Bucky pulled back at the last moment when he saw something he didn't expect. That split second of reconsidering cost him, since the man, with surprising strength, hit Bucky in the left side, making him turn just enough for the stranger to wrench his right arm behind his back.

"Shit, let me go!" he said, forgetting temporarily that he was _the Winter Soldier_. The man's grasp tightened momentarily.

"What did you say?" he asked.

Bucky pulled away and snapped into a defensive position. Despite not attacking again, the guy quickly put his hands up, probably recognizing that Bucky was _not_ to be messed with.

"Sergeant Barnes, I'm Phil Coulson—"

"Are you HYDRA?"

Coulson's mouth tightened, and his body tensed. "No. _Not_ HYDRA, though… I can't blame you for thinking that. I'm the director of New SHIELD. And HYDRA's gone. Between us and the Avengers, all the leaders are down and most of the agents, too. There are some still out there, probably always will be, but they have no one to lead them." He tilted his head. "Unless you plan to, which I very much doubt."

"But you…" Bucky relaxed, crossing his arms, and hunched his shoulders as he glanced at Coulson through the strands of his lanky hair. Coulson lowered his hands.

"May I come inside?" he asked.

"You'd better, I guess."

Coulson nodded, and moved past Bucky, keeping a sensible distance. Bucky locked the door, still not willing to mention the soulmark think to him yet, but wondering how else to broach the topic. Fortunately, he didn't have to.

"I'm wondering whether…" Coulson began. Bucky didn't reply, so he continued. "The way you reacted, believed I was HYDRA." His gaze flicked away, then back to Bucky. "You said my soulmark words, and I'm wondering whether I said yours. Did HYDRA try that to get to you?"

"Not yet," Bucky said. "I know my own handwriting, damn it. Nah, they never brought someone in saying 'Welcome Wagon'. They could control me without doing that." He clenched his hands. "Did HYDRA do that to you?" He gestured vaguely to Coulson's left arm, or what was left of it, which had distracted him in the first place.

"This? No. It was one of my agents. I… I grabbed an alien object which began to turn me to stone, so he cut off my arm before it could spread and kill me."

Bucky's stomach turned over at the thought that he could've lost his soulmate like that. He stepped closer, and Coulson reached for the buttons of his jacket. He managed to undo them and start to struggle out of it, but Bucky grabbed his right hand.

"Where's your mark?" he asked quietly.

"My right arm."

"Then let me." Slowly, `cause he wanted to savour it, and Coulson might've still been in pain, he stripped the jacket off, and would've done the same with the shirt if Coulson hadn't stopped him, and suggested just undoing the cuff of the shirt. Bucky followed his advice, gently moving the material up until the whole of 'Shit, let me go' was displayed in his handwriting. He exhaled shakily, and on the spur of the moment kissed the mark. Coulson's breath hitched, which made Bucky feel kinda smug.

"Can I see yours?" he said. Bucky smirked against the skin.

"S'on my back," he said. "Hope you don't mind if I strip off."

Coulson cleared his throat. "Not at all."

* * *

 **Saucy! And yet not. The next story is sadder, but I'll put a warning at the start.**

 **Please review, folks!**


	10. Loss

**Warning: implied possible character death through miscarriage or childbirth (though it's only one interpretation).**

"Loss"

Phil squeezed Bucky's hand once, even though comfort was absolutely pointless, and then walked unsteadily down the hospital corridor.

Bucky bowed his head, and the tears fell freely as he clenched his fist, the metal grating quietly…

And from his other hand fell the woolly, pink baby bonnet which would never be worn.

* * *

 **Three-sentence fic again.**

 **Background open to interpretation; might not be child death, but I needed to warn for that. Might be that Bucky and Phil were supposed to adopt, and they were rejected, or the parents changed their minds, or the child was given to someone else. Might be someone else's child who died. Could be ABO, general mpreg, adoption, surrogacy… Whatever it is, the title stands.**


	11. A Dialogue

"A Dialogue"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"As in…?"

"Serious. Very much so."

"Wait. You _mean_ it? This is actually happening? Not a joke? Are… are you _sure_ about this, Phil?"

"Yes, I mean it; yes, this is happening; no, it's not a joke; and no, I'm not sure about it now!"

"…You don't think it's a good idea?"

"I think it's a great idea, but now I'm wishing I'd never asked—"

"No! No take-backs."

"…That doesn't answer my question, James."

"Well, yeah. _Stupid_ question. Of course I'm gonna marry you, since you asked so **nicely**."

* * *

 **I wanted something fluffier to make up for 'Loss', and decided to challenge myself to a dialogue-only fic.**

 **Please review!**


	12. Stay in Bed

**Okay, this was originally for Stay In Bed Day, but I didn't get it finished in time.**

"Stay In Bed"

The trouble with telling people that he had a day off in advance was that it increased the likelihood of some villain popping out of the woodwork to cause trouble by about… oh, three hundred percent?

Ordinarily, therefore, Phil Coulson tried to maintain some semblance of his usual routine until he'd be due to leave for work, and then go somewhere else for the day. Keep it between him and SHIELD.

Being single made it easier to keep up the pretence. If only it were that simple. Because one day, he woke to find the Winter Soldier in bed beside him. Phil blinked as he stared at Bucky, who immediately clung on like an octopus.

"Sergeant Barnes?"

"Don't go in to work today, Agent Coulson."

"…I have to go out. It's—"

"No, please stay in bed," Bucky mumbled into Phil's pyjama-clad shoulder. "You're supposed to."

"Am I just?"

"It's International Stay In Bed Day. Said so on the radio."

"I see. And you're here to prevent me from leaving bed?"

"Yeah." Bucky said stubbornly. Phil thought about this for awhile.

"Who sent you?" he asked.

"No one."

"Don't frown at me like that. It's a perfectly legitimate question. And there are more effective ways of keeping me in bed."

"Oh?" Bucky smirked widely, and Phil realised how that sounded. Turning red, he cleared his throat.

"Such as tying me down." Oh God, it just got worse, and Bucky's smile grew. "I mean, not in a bondage kind of way."

"You'd escape anything else," Bucky said. "This is the best way. You're not gonna throw me out of bed just `cause I'm _cuddling_ you."

"Sergeant—"

" _Please_ , Agent Coulson?"

"But… why are _you_ here? Clint I could almost understand. Natasha could give me one look and I'd obey. I don't understand why you took it upon yourself to…" He narrowed his eyes. "What did they do?"

"Who?"

"Whoever is going to end up in trouble."

"Nothin'," Bucky said, turning sullen and sulky. He let go of Phil, who immediately felt colder, and turned his back on Phil as he sat up. "Just tryin' t' do the right thing."

"I've got other, non-work-related things to do today," Phil said. "I wasn't necessarily headed for SHIELD. Unless I've just jinxed myself," he added in a mutter.

"Wanted a cuddle, that's all," Bucky said softly.

"Why didn't you go to Steve?"

"`Cause I don't want it from _him_!"

"Alright, alright," Phil said. He was still confused, but he lay back down. "I guess I can stay in bed awhile longer. I'll have to get up eventually, but another few minutes won't hurt."

"…Right," Bucky said, and he made to stand up. Phil clamped a hand around his wrist, which probably wasn't terrible sensible, but some things were worth taking a gamble on. The Winter Soldier didn't strike out, so that was a win.

"I thought you said it was Stay In Bed Day?" he murmured.

Bucky looked back over his shoulder at Phil, and his eyes shone with hope.

* * *

 **Another one in the series of 'days of the year' fics. So is the next one.**

 **Please review!**


	13. Disobedience Day

"Disobedience Day"

"Hey!" Bucky snapped at the others, and he pushed Phil into an armchair. Phil remained there, looking bemused. "It's not like he asks much of us. A little bit of paperwork and you bitch about it for days. Press conference, you complain for weeks. You miss both, and what does he do?" Phil opened his mouth, but Bucky swept on. "Doesn't moan about it. Just sighs, then goes and fixes everything you screwed up."

"Bucky," Phil admonished, but Bucky glared at him, and Phil fell silent.

"Y'know, it'd be good if you could just do what he asks for once," Bucky said. He crossed his arms. "Heard on the wireless that it's Disobedience Day. Maybe you should kinda reverse that?" The rest of the Avengers either looked at the floor on their hands. "Or show your appreciation?"

"Not National Show Your Appreciation Day," Phil said, and his lips twitched at the corners. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Lemme start," he said.

Without another word, he straddled a surprised Phil, dragged him close by the lapels, and planted one on him. Phil grabbed Bucky by the upper arms, but he quickly gave up on pushing the man away, and settled for rubbing his hands up and down. Bucky settled in his lap, delving deeper with a low groan.

"Okay, we'll be back later!" Steve said, shepherding the others out of the room. "Just don't 'appreciate' each other all over the common area."

Bucky laughed as they ran off, and raised his head to catch his breath, peeking out of the corner of his eye. When the elevator doors were closed, Phil pushed Bucky from his lap, trying to ignore his smug little smile.

"What was all that in aid of?" he asked. Bucky shrugged casually.

"They don't appreciate you as much as I do," he said, "or they'd behave `emselves for you."

"Bucky—"

"An' if we're goin' with euphemisms here, then I'd like to be 'appreciating' you by the end-a this week."

Phil blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well." Bucky kissed him again, less intense this time. "I'm not takin' you t' bed on the first date."

"Date?"

"Tonight. I'll pick you up from your room at seven. Hmm. Actually, make it six. More time I spend with you, the better. Okay?" Phil nodded, bewildered, and Bucky sauntered away.

* * *

 **Hey, the next chapter is also a special day fic! Huh. You can tell I got on a roll when I was working on these.**


	14. Bikini Day

"Bikini Day"

"Well, this is something new," Phil said, determined to believe the absolutely best about his partner, and not suspect him of infidelity, or buying inappropriate gifts for women, and these were definitely too big for Pepper, Natasha, or Jane.

"What?" Bucky said, poking his head into the bedroom. His eyes widened when he saw the bra and panties dangling from Phil's index fingers, and he turned bright red. "Ah. Those are mine. I bought `em last week, but I got cold feet, and I was gonna return `em today…"

"Mmm. No need for that." Phil's lips twisted up at the edges. "I look forward to seeing you in them."

* * *

 **Not a three-sentence fic, but a three-paragraph fic. Eh. Liked it? The thought of Bucky in lingerie… Yummy.**


	15. Sugar High

"Sugar High"

As soon as Phil entered the common area, he saw what JARVIS was talking about, although the giggling had been audible from the elevator. The Avengers were gathered around the coffee table, and empty packets of various candies littered the floor around them. They'd have to work it off later if he wanted to get any sleep.

"You're on a sugar high," he said, sending them into another fit of the giggles. "Again."

"Phil, Phil, Phil!" Bucky said, kneeling up higher and gesticulating towards the table. "Come look what I made for you!"

"It was a group effort, Barnes," Clint said, throwing candy frogs at Bucky, who just batted them away.

"Yeah, but it's from me," Bucky said, and he gestured Phil over. "C'mere. C'mon."

Phil sighed internally, but he dutifully walked towards his boyfriend, gingerly stepping between rubbish. He nearly tripped over when he glanced at the coffee table, _covered_ in sweets, and saw that gummi worms were arranged to spell out 'WILL YOU MARRY ME, PHILIP COULSON?'

"My first name has two 'l's," he said absently. Bucky glared at Thor, who looked contrite.

" _Someone_ got hungry," he muttered. But then he picked something up, shifted on leg so that he was on one knee, and held out a lollipop ring. "So, how `bout it? Wanna marry me?"

Phil opened and closed his mouth. Then said, "You're on a sugar high, Bucky."

"You didn't want something big and embarrassing," Bucky said, and Phil was surprised that he remembered that conversation. Wasn't that five months ago when they'd discussed proposals? Hell, they'd been drunk. Why would Bucky remember…? Oh. "I thought this was cuter. Hang on." He nearly fell over as he rifled among the other packets of sweets. "Aha!" He threw the candy ring aside, and then held out a velvet box. "Okay. Here. So you know it's not some spur-of-the-moment, sugar-induced idea." He cracked open the box carefully, and Phil gulped when he saw the ring. "Marry me, Phil?"

"…Uh, okay?"

* * *

 **It was Gummi Worm Day, and I just couldn't resist it. Phil proposed earlier; it's only fair that Bucky get his chance.**


	16. Roles

"Roles"

Through his life, Phil Coulson had seen Bucky Barnes as many things, and what he'd imagined they would be to each other if miracles could happen.

" _Do you take Phillip James Coulson to be your lawful wedded husband?"_

He was a brave soldier, Barnes as his CO, Phil as the new recruit dazzled by the legendary Bucky Barnes.

" _I do."_

Phil as a superhero, with bucky as his trusty sidekick, ready to fight the bad guys.

" _And do you take James Buchanan barnes to be your lawfully wedded husband?"_

Bucky Barnes, sniper extraordinaire, hero of the nation, and Phil as the sidekick watching his six.

" _I do."_

Even a whole range of other roles, from college students to SHIELD colleagues, from baristas to members of a superhero team or a TV show or a bookshop…

" _I now pronounce you married. You may kiss each other."_

But this was his favourite.

* * *

 **Daw! And this could be considered the culmination of one of the previous proposals.**

 **Please review! More soulmate goodness next!**


	17. Soulmate 3

"Soulmate 3"

"This is our handler, Agent Phil Coulson," Steve said, gesturing to Phil, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and trying not to stare at BUCKY BARNES HE WAS ALIVE INTERNAL FREAKOUT! He was failing, obviously, because his tongue wouldn't even work. Bucky held out his hand for a shake.

"You're the guy who was gushing over my best friend Captain America here, right?" he asked.

Phil froze, every muscle in his body coming to a complete and utter standstill. Even his heart probably stopped beating, he was that damn shocked. His hand was only part of the way out. Bucky shot a concerned look at Steve.

"Is he okay?" he said, and GOD, how embarrassing. Steve looked worried now as well. Clint and Natasha immediately flanked Phil.

"Don't mind him," Clint said, poking Phil to make him move.

"You said his words," Natasha added. Bucky's mouth fell open, and Steve nearly fell over where he was standing. "It's your turn to say something."

It took her elbow digging hard into his side to stir Phil. He grabbed Bucky's hand and shook firmly, pulse racing.

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence, I wouldn't worry about it," he babbled. He held on a bit too long, and dropped Bucky's hand. How hot did a person's cheeks have to get before a fire extinguisher was necessary. This was something he really needed to know.

"That's okay," Bucky said hoarsely. Steve poked his upper arm, and clearly Bucky had some feeling in it, because he glared at his friend. Eye contact broken, Phil could breathe properly again.

"Those were _his_ words, too, sir," Steve told Phil. "He used to be a lot smoother than this with the dolls. And with the fellas, Buck, don't think I didn't see you."

"Shut up, punk," Bucky said, and he cleared his throat. "Maybe we can talk `bout this in private… Phil?"

"Huh? O-oh! Okay. This… come this way."

* * *

 **Well, Phil might've thought a cos-player was his soulmate, right?**

 **Please review! That's all I've got for now. I've also been posting parts of what will eventually be a decent length power swap AU. I've even been making photo manips to go with it! You can find the excerpts and the link to the album on Photobucket on the Phucky Archive on Tumblr.**


	18. Photography Day

"Photography Day"

"What's that they say about the camera loving you?" Sam said, poking Bucky. He swatted Sam's hand away.

"The idea didn't entirely suck," he admitted. "I still don't know many people who'd buy an amputee calendar. Cats and dogs and firemen I can understand…"

"Because you're gorgeous and we love you," Natasha said. "Especially Steve."

"Not as much as the camera, though," Steve said, smirking. Bucky glared at him. "Although I think it's not so much the camera as it is the _cameraman_."

They all looked over at Phil Coulson, the principal photographer of Stark Magazines. One of its publications was SHIELD, a monthly magazine about the armed forces, and Sam was a contributing editor. He'd come up with the idea of doing a calendar of people who'd lost limbs during their service. Bucky was still sceptical, but he'd agreed, especially after he met Phil. There was a man who could understand.

"It's for charity," Sam reminded him, and Bucky sighed. He looked away when Phil's head turned towards them, feeding the flames on his cheeks.

"Doesn't mean Bucky shouldn't get laid," Steve said. Natasha hid her smile behind her hand, and Bucky shoved Steve onto the floor.

* * *

 **This could seriously be the start of something much longer, I feel. Not that I'm necessarily the one to write it…**

 ***HINT-HINT ALL THE PEOPLE WHO SHOULD BE CONTRIBUTING PHUCKY FAN FICTION!***

… **Ehem. Please review!**


	19. Poet Knows It

"Poet Knows It"

 _Roses are red, violets are blue;_

 _I'd like to go out to dinner with you._

 _We can have dessert there, then with any luck_

 _When we get home we can have a nice... coffee._

Phil raised his eyebrows as he read over the note which had been left on his desk, where anyone might've seen it (and in Barton's case, probably _had_ ). He knew the handwriting, of course he did, and he glanced up as Bucky poked his head around the door pane.

"You chickened out at the end of the last line," Phil said.

"More like I wanted you to fill in the blanks for yourself," Bucky muttered.

"To use your words, 'with any luck', I might fill in _your_ blanks later. But not on a first date."

Bucky brightened. "Second date?"

"I'm open for negotiations."

* * *

 **I'll bet you are, Phil.**

 **In honour of Poet's Day. Not the first time I've had a character descending into inappropriate poetry to woo another person.**

 **Please review!**


	20. The Carrots Won't Tell

"The Carrots Won't Tell"

"Don't worry. Hey, hey. Just keep `em steady."

Phil wrapped his arms around Bucky from behind and rested his hands over Bucky's shaking ones. The former Winter Soldier was holding the knife just right for chopping carrots, yet he hadn't even made one cut.

"Can't," Bucky choked out. "What if I hurt someone?"

"Carrots can't cry," Phil said. "Here, let me help you." He moved Bucky's hands, rubbing his thumb over cold skin. "That's it."

"I've hurt so many people…"

"It's human nature. If you're referring to the Winter Soldier, that was HYDRA's weapon. _Not_ you." He paused briefly, and then rested his forehead against Bucky's upper back. "Maybe _one_ day you'll believe that. In the meantime, help me make this soup for Bruce. You'll only be killing vegetables that way. Maybe you should become a vegetarian like him? Cut down on the guilt."

"Cut down on the guilt," Bucky muttered. "I see what you did there. Cute."

* * *

 **This was for International Knife Day. Or Knife Appreciation Day. I can't remember, but it was something like that, and of course I went the angst route. I couldn't go the circus route or something fun like that, oh no. It was tempting to make Bucky chop up onions, but I decided against that. There's an amazing story on AO3, though, about Jane getting Bucky to help her cook, and he's shocked that she's just trusting him with sharp knives and hot oil and things like that.**

 **Please review!**


	21. Kiss and Make Up

"Kiss and Make Up"

"What's wrong with them?" Bucky asked, perching on the arm of Phil's chair, while Tony and Pepper continued to shout at each other at the other end of the room. The others present were torn between watching the fight and pretending not to watch.

"No idea," Phil said. "I've been minding my own business."

"Uh-huh?"

Phil looked up, arching an eyebrow, and then glanced thoughtfully at the fighting couple.

"Probably about not spending enough time with each other," he said. "The usual reasons people fight. Pepper's not the exhibitionist type, so if it's truly personal she'd confine it to the workshop, or their quarters, or over the phone. Not have it out in public like this. Maybe she wants someone to back her up? Tony won't disagree with airing their problems in front of us for the same reason; he's usually private enough about emotions to keep these things behind closed doors. If there's a chance of immediate reconciliation, they definitely wouldn't be here, or they'd end up getting hot and heavy in front of us."

"Pretty specific for someone who's been minding his own business," Bucky said.

"Pretty accurate for someone who knows them and understands human behaviour," Phil corrected. "They're loud enough, but I was here before they arrived, and I'm not moving – nor am I going to stop reading – just because they're yelling their heads off. If they're not arguing about not spending enough time together, then maybe… no, it probably isn't because of Tony's flirting. It's like breathing to him. Is it something Pepper's done? Seen other businessmen without telling Tony? Pretending that he doesn't have a huge say in how SI is run just because he handed the reins to her?" He shrugged. "I can't tell, and I'm not that interested. As long as they don't strip and start having sex in here, and as long as they don't drag me into the argument, I don't care."

Bucky rolled his eyes, and wandered over to Natasha, hoping she could give him some insight. Before he could ask, she spoke.

"It started with Pepper arguing about Tony's commitment issues," she said. "Then it became about not spending enough time together, as Phil said. Flirting and business haven't been brought up yet. Then it was about the Stony fan girls, and the fact that no one seems to take her seriously as Tony's girlfriend. Then it was back to commitment issues. Now they're onto the fact that you and Phil are the perfect couple who never argues, and they're the hated couple that always argues."

"Arguments are a terrible basis for a relationship," Steve muttered, his first and only contribution to the conversation. He was clearly as disturbed as ever at the mention of shippers, especially those shipping him with people already in relationships, and _especially_ with Howard's son.

"So… they're now arguing about arguing," Bucky summarised. Natasha nodded, and he groaned. "What the hell?" He raised his voice as he hollered across the room, making everyone except Phil jump. "Kiss and make up, you too! You're being ridiculous! Wanna stop arguing? Then just do it? Jeez." He dropped his voice and returned to Phil's side, ignoring the silence from Pepper and Tony. Phil was happy to pull Bucky into his lap, and continue to read whatever was on his StarkPad as he rested it on Bucky's thigh.

"I love you," Phil said.

"Love you, too."

* * *

 **This was for Kiss and Make Up Day. Yes, that's a day. Don't ask me. I just write these things when I'm inspired to. I know, I'm still bagging the pairing of Stony, but I just can't see it. As I've said before, if the Toaster `Verse couldn't persuade me to see it as a legitimate pairing, nothing can. Which is why it's annoying when I'm looking for particular rare ships and half the fics I find with them have Stony as main or secondary pairing. So frustrating!**

… **Rant over.**

 **Please review!**


	22. Puppies

"Puppies"

A ball of brown fluff slammed into Becky's legs, and she nearly fell over. It was a few disorienting seconds before she registered that the ball of fluff in question was, in fact, a small dog. A puppy, judging by the size of its paws in relation to the rest of its body.

"Are you okay, Beck?" Steve said, clutching her arm. She scowled at him, just as a man hurried over and scooped up the yapping dog. It squirmed in his arms, trying to get to Becky.

"Leo, calm down!" he hissed. "You don't run into ladies like you're a steamroller, remember?"

Leo tilted his head and barely managed to lick the man's chin before returning his attention to Becky. He renewed his struggles, tail thwacking through the air.

"Becky, this is Phil Coulson, our handler," Steve said. "And… one of his dogs. Leo."

"I think someone was being ironic when they named him after a lion," Coulson said, moving Leo to the crook of his arm. "Steve said you were okay with dogs, not allergic or anything, and I need to take them for a run."

"My offer to walk them still stands."

"No. It's an excuse for me to get more exercise."

"And meet women."

Coulson glared at Steve, and then held out his hand to Becky. She shook it gingerly, and glanced at Leo.

"You have more?" she asked.

"Yes, but they're usually not a problem. I keep them on my floor most of the time. But the sooner they get to know your scent, the better. I promise, they're well trained. Leo just likes meeting new people." He whistled, and a motley assortment of other dogs ran through to them. Coulson whistled again when they tried to approach Becky, and they stopped. He placed Leo on the floor beside a much larger dog, at least four times the size of the puppy. "Leo's a chocolate labrador puppy. Why they can't just say 'brown' is beyond me. Uh, Mack is a bull mastiff. He came with the name Alphonso, but he chose to ignore it, and... well, he likes McDonald's, so we call him Mack."

"Phil picks up strays, and if no one claims them at the shelter, he usually ends up buying them himself," Steve explained. Becky tried to pay attention to the dogs, but she found it hard to drag her eyes away from Coulson (was she supposed to call him Phil?) as he introduced May, Skye, Jemma, Hunter, Trip, and Bobbi. It seemed human strays weren't the only type he picked up.

"…had one called Grant, I named him after Steve, but then one day he ran away, and I learned my lesson. Never name a pet after someone you know, because if they…" Coulson (or Phil) trailed off. Becky wondered what happened to Grant, but she wasn't sure whether she could take the liberty of asking. If she paid more attention, maybe she'd learn what happened to him.

"It's nice," she said, and when she only got questioning looks from the humans she realised what that sounded like. "Not losing a pet, I mean. But… takin' `em in like that."

"The ones nobody else wants," Steve said softly. "Or can afford to keep."

Coulson-or-Phil fidgeted, much like Leo had squirmed before. "It's just… it's the right thing to do. What would…" He glanced at Steve. "What would anyone do?"

"Not as much as you do for them," Steve said. "Y'know, Becky always loved dogs, but we couldn't get one `cause I might've been allergic, and they weren't cheap to look after. She liked talking to single men with dogs, though. Especially the ones with mutts." He patted Becky on the shoulder, and she stared at him as she realised that she'd been set up. "I'm getting a drink."

He strolled off, and some of the dogs trotted after him. Wrong-footed and blushing, Becky squatted down by the remaining pups, and held out her flesh hand. Leo and Mack turned out to be far more interested in her metal arm, but Jemma was happy to lick her fingers, and Becky giggled at the ticklish sensation. She crooked her fingers around to scratch behind the puppy's ears, and heard a small sigh. She looked up, and saw that Coulson's attention was on them, a smile softening his features. When their eyes met, she stood up, biting her lower lip as her heart skipped a beat.

 _Damn it, Steve_ , she thought.

* * *

 **No one can resist puppies. Except those who are allergic, or are strictly cat people, or don't have souls…**

 **The point is, Dog Day. I wrote a Phucky (in this case Phecky?) fic with always-a-girl!Bucky and dog-lover!Phil, where 'Agents of SHIELD' characters are strays he's eventually adopted. Couldn't resist the notion, especially of puppy!Fitz. I mean, Fitz is half-puppy in nature, let's be honest.**

 **Please review!**


	23. Birthday Headcanon Example

"Birthday Headcanon Example"

[Text taken (and proofread) from original post on the Phucky Archive.]

Send in your birthday and I'll write a mini-fic or a headcanon or a scene to illustrate a headcanon related to Phucky or Phucky/Any! I'll get the ball rolling with mine. (I won't include the actual date, just the name of the chosen day.)

In my case, Donald Duck Day. Apparently. So here's an example.

Headcanon: In the spirit of dragging depressed ex-assassins out of the doldrums, Phil will engage them in serious discussions about seemingly inconsequential things. This extends to a debate over Looney Tunes characters, or Looney Tunes vs Disney. Obviously, someone's going to stick up for the grumpier characters such as Donald Duck, which results in a Valentine's Day card from Phil saying 'Will you be the Donald Duck to my Daisy Duck?'. Could seen it as Bucky/Phil or Bucky/Phil/Steve, or any other depressed super soldiers and/or ex-assassins the Avengers take in.

 _Bucky stared down at the card in his hand, and then went straight to find Phil, who was talking with Steve. Steve was also holding a Valentine's Day card, and looked just as confused as Bucky._

" _You get one, too?" Bucky asked._

" _Yeah," Steve said. "Who'd you get?"_

" _Phil."_

" _No, I meant as a character."_

" _Oh." Bucky held his up, and saw Phil's cheeks turning pink. "Donald Duck. Who'd you get?"_

" _Bugs Bunny. I don't think I need to tell you the inappropriate carrot analogy Phil used."_

 _The agent's cheeks must've been burning by now, they were so red. "You both needed to be cheered up. I thought–"_

" _It was very sweet of you, Phil," Steve said seriously._

" _Yeah, yeah."_

" _But I think you're gonna have to choose `tween us," Bucky said, leaning against the wall right beside Phil, who looked increasingly flustered._

" _A-academic," Phil said. "Choosing would imply that there's a chance… that…" He looked from one to the other. Steve gave him a small smile, and Phil stroked the side of Phil's arm. "…Oh. Uh–"_

" _Well?" Steve said. Phil glanced between them again, swallowing, and then he straightened his spine._

" _Why the hell should I choose?" he said. "If you'll excuse me, I have to be getting on with. I'll be at the Red Cup Café near SHIELD base around twelve-thirty. If either… or both… I mean, if anyone met me there… that's where I'll be."_

 _Then he hurried off, and Bucky and Steve exchanged a wicked smile._

* * *

 **So I wrote this first one using my own birthday for the inspiration. I'll happily accept other people's birthday prompts, as long as I can post them on the Archive as well as in this series of fics.**

 **Please review! This was for Donald Duck Day. Yes. That's a thing.**


	24. Birthday Headcanon 1

"Birthday Headcanon 1"

Headcanon: Everyone should love bubblewrap, even ex-brainwashed ex-assassins with PTSD. The Avengers are all so grown-up most of the time out of necessity, and thanks to what life has thrown at them; but Phil is determined to let them behave like children from time to time, and that includes pillow fights, water bombing SHIELD agents who've pissed him off during the week, and rolling about in plastic ball pits or covered with bubblewrap. Heck, the bubblewrap could be considered therapy, although it's cheating to use the Iron Man repulsors or Mjolnir. Bucky comes to love bubblewrap, and when Phil tells him that the company which makes it is planning to change the design - and make it less fun - he's horrified. And then leads a protest against it.

" _You never should have told him," Maria said, watching from SHIELD headquarters as Bucky led an ever-growing group of protestors along the road, placards wavering in the strong breeze._

 _"_ _It would be cruel not to," Phil protested._

 _"_ _And you didn't see this as the result?" She arched an eyebrow, and he glanced down at the street._

 _"Honestly?" he said. "No. It's adorable, though, you can't deny it."_

 _"_ I _can deny it easily," she said. "You? You can't deny him anything." Phil pouted. "If he asked you to buy all the bubblewrap left in the world, you'd do it."_

 _"_ _He_ likes _bubblewrap."_

 _"_ _Playing with packaging supplies is not a hobby, Coulson!"_

* * *

 **This one was for zandperl, for Bubblewrap Day. Please review!**


	25. Birthday Headcanon 2

"Birthday Headcanon 2"

Headcanon: AU from end of 'Avengers' where Phil didn't die, and became their handler. [Most of these headcanons will be along those lines.] They still somehow find out that HYDRA is within SHIELD, and Clint/Natasha/Phil all feel they have to prove that they're not HYDRA, even though Clint 'had heart', Natasha can beat any lie detector, and Phil is a complete Cap fanboy. So they get together to weed out every HYDRA agent they can, managing it within twelve hours, and free Bucky to boot. He then becomes distinctly attached to all three, although Clint keeps disappearing (to the farm), and Natasha doesn't need old memories to resurface. So it's left to Phil to be part-time babysitter for the recovering Winter Soldier, who's always in awe of Phil's BAMF-ness.

 _"_ _You should've seen `im when he found himself with only me and Strike Team Alpha," Bucky gushed to Steve, for possibly the umpteenth time. Steve could so easily parrot back this story by now, he'd heard it so many times. "I was completely useless, but he was like pow-pow," he did the actions, nearly hitting himself_ and _Steve in the face, "and they all went down. I tried to help, but he kept getting between them an' me, bein' all protective. He_ did _let me hold the bandages while he patched himself up later, though."_

 _"_ _It sounds exciting," Steve said, failing, as always, to bring up the part where he, Sam, and Maria had to bring down the Helicarriers themselves while Tony tried to field… a lot, actually. HYDRA had tried to hack Stark Tower, after all, and if it wasn't for Bruce… But they owed a lot to Strike Team Delta and their former handler._

 _"_ _It was," Bucky said. He never looked more animated than when he was talking about Phil, including those times Phil was actually in the room with them. Like today, where he was trying to hide behind a book, but Steve could clearly see the red tips of his ears. "D'you think he'd go for drinks with me?"_

 _"…_ _He's right over there, y'know, Bucky."_

 _"_ _But you've known him longer!" Bucky said, completely missing the point. "You know whether he'd like me enough, right? Whether he'd be cool with it?"_

 _Steve glanced at Phil, who was peeking incredulously out from behind his book. He definitely wasn't giving Steve anything to work with._

 _"_ _Why don't you ask him yourself?" he said, feeling desperate now._

 _"_ _`Cause it'd be embarrassing if he turned me down," Bucky said._

 _"_ _Uh…"_

 _"_ _C'mon, Steve."_

 _Well, if Phil wasn't gonna give him any hints…_

 _"_ _I'm sure he'd be happy to go on a_ date _with you, Bucky," he said loudly, resisting the urge to snigger when Phil gave up all pretence of not listening and stared, slack-jawed, at Steve and Bucky._

 _"_ _Ya think so?" Bucky said. He started to bounce in place, and Steve saw the child in him._

 _"_ _Absolutely. Now go an' ask him."_

 _Bucky jumped up and ran over to the armchair. "Hey, Phil, got a minute?"_

* * *

 **This one was for knitterfly75, for Anti-Corruption Day. Please review!**


	26. The Pony Express

"The Pony Express"

It was 1861, and for the past five months Steve Rogers had been defying expectations by riding for the Pony Express. The lighter the guy the faster the horse, right? The recruitment officers took a chance on him, and he was now one of the swiftest deliverers they had. He hadn't even fallen off his horse since the first day, when he had to show that he knew how to ride. Not that he _actually_ knew how to ride until then, but he picked it up quickly, no problem.

A dangerous path, of course, and Steve had always had a penchant of trouble running into him. Bad luck, some could say. But he only had to dodge banditos a couple of times a month, so he was doing pretty well. If only the people he delivered to were less frustrating than the thieves (who always ran off with their tails – or hands – between their legs).

The two he was thinking of were at opposite ends of the line, and he'd gotten to be pretty friendly with them. One, Bucky Barnes, was from Steve's own home town. He was good with his hands, brought up a blacksmith, but he didn't know how to write all that well. He'd barely been learning two weeks before someone set him up with a pen pal program, at least that's how Bucky told it, and since then he'd been writing to a man named Phil Coulson. Bucky always had a bowl of chilli ready when Steve came with a letter from Phil. While Steve tucked in, Bucky would read the letter, sometimes getting Steve's help with a word, and then he'd write out a reply while Steve delivered the rest of the mail. Then he'd take the reply and ride out back east with it.

Phil was a nice man, a bit older than Bucky and Steve, and he was never without cornbread to feed Steve. Both he and Bucky clearly had a thing with bulking him up a bit. He'd also read his letter from Bucky, and write out a reply much faster. Then Steve would take it back west as soon as he could.

He knew some pen pals who only wrote once a month; these two wrote as often as he rode into their towns, and for all he knew they sent letters by other Pony Express representatives. After awhile, Bucky was shy of asking for Steve's help, and it seemed he'd bought himself a book on words. Steve wondered why, at first; he wasn't supposed to read mail, but Bucky didn't seem to care what Steve knew about him. It didn't click until he had to return to town without a letter for Bucky.

"Steve!" he called out as Steve meant to ride by, almost stopping out of habit. He pulled up his horse's reins.

"Whoa, Valkyrie," he said. "Yeah, Bucky?"

"Is there… any mail for me?"

Jesus, he hated to be the one to break it to him.

"N-not this time," he said.

"…Oh." Bucky deflated, and turned to head inside. Steve cleared his throat, and Bucky paused.

"Phil's been in an accident," he said. "He's in the hospital, not awake all that much. His neighbour, Ms. Hill, she told me. She promised to take the letter to the hospital soon as he wakes up."

"Phil's hurt?" Bucky said, running back to his side. "Is it bad?"

"I don't know."

Bucky chewed his lower lip, and glanced back the way Steve came.

"You head back tomorrow, right?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Can I… can I go with you?"

" _What_? Bucky, it's not the safest journey—"

"I know, but I wanna see him," Bucky said. "We've never met, an' if I never got that chance… I'd regret it forever." He took a step back, his gaze dropping to the ground. "Please, Steve? You know the way."

Steve wasn't sure whether he could take a civilian with him, whether he should've been encouraging whatever this way, kicking himself that he hadn't figured it out `til now. But Bucky's dejected expression told him everything he needed to know.

"Pack as much as you can and get a horse," he said. "I'll meet you here in the morning."

Bucky looked relieved, and Steve knew that he'd done the right thing.

* * *

 **This was for Pony Express Day. Any excuse to write about horses, even if they're just in the background, am I right? Read up about it on Days of the Year – my source of inspiration and information for many of these fics – and decided that it'd be a cute idea. Hey, it's Sebastian Stan's fault for mentioning 'Brokeback Mountain', okay? Wrong pairing, I know, but who cares?**

 **Please review!**


	27. Impostor

"Impostor"

"What the hell, Phil?" Steve exclaimed, and he crouched down over Bucky. "What'd you do that for? He didn't attack you first!"

Phil cleared his throat. "That's _not_ Sergeant Barnes, I think you'll find, Captain Rogers. Take a closer look."

"I _think_ I know my best…" But Steve trailed off, and poked Bucky's cheek. "No, it's gotta be him. I'm sure it is."

"Checked his eyes?"

Steve pried Bucky's eyelids open. "They look exactly the same. Not even contact lenses. This is Bucky, Phil. I dunno why you thought different."

"Have you checked the arm?" Phil said, fidgeting as he tried to hide his desperation.

"Looks just like his."

"Yes, but technology can be copied. And there's plastic surgery. And… you're _sure_ they're not contact lenses? Maybe HYDRA… or _someone_ picked a guy off the streets with the right eyes and build, dressed him up, brainwashed him. He could be an excellent actor."

"I guess his most recent scars would tell us whether it's really him or not," Clint said, eyeing Phil suspiciously. "Let's take him to medical and checked him out there."

Phil couldn't stop shuffling in place. He knew that Bucky didn't heal as quickly as, for example, Steve, but he healed fairly rapidly nonetheless. Still, bruises like the ones Phil had left on him didn't clear up within half a day.

They rested the comatose man on a hospital bed, and began to strip him down. Phil shook his head with every inch of unblemished pale skin revealed. There were scars, placed roughly in accordance with Bucky's own reminders of old injuries, because the serum he'd received wasn't the same as his friend's. (Phil suspected he preferred it that way.) But they weren't the same lines of raised tissue he'd traced during long nights, with his fingers, his nose, his tongue…

He blushed. "Those aren't _exactly_ the places. Close, but… but that one…" He gestured to one near Bucky's left nipple. "It's nearly half an inch off."

"Well, _you're_ creepily over-observant," Tony remarked. Phil scowled at him.

"There are… _other_ differences," he said. "And yes, of course I'm observant. I'm a SHIELD agent; I'm trained to notice these things and remember them."

"Uh-huh."

"What other differences?" Steve asked.

"What?"

"You said there were other differences. What are they?"

"Um…" Phil floundered for an explanation, but they all looked equally doubtful, and he knew that they'd soon suspect _him_ of being the impostor. With a sigh, he unbuckled the belt, unzipped the pants, and drew them down. He took a peek beneath the underpants, then let the elastic snap back into place. "D-definitely not him."

In the ensuing silence, he was wondering whether it was possible to sink into the floor when someone burst into the room. It was Bucky, wearing someone else's clothes – probably whoever he knocked out on the way out of confinement – and he stared at the unconscious body on the bed.

"Christ," he said. "That's uncanny. Uh…" He gave them a small wave. "I'm me. That's… _not_ me."

"Yeah, Phil told us," Clint said. "After knocking him out."

"Huh." Bucky grinned at Phil. "Good to know."

"We didn't know how he could possibly tell the difference when… when even I was fooled," Steve said, glancing at Phil.

Bucky crossed the room to get a closer look. "The scars aren't all in the right place."

"So we heard," Tony said.

"Oh. And…" Bucky tugged down the neck of the shirt he was wearing, even though the love bites were visible over the collar. "He left these on me last night. I'll bet he was lookin' for `em when the impostor got here, an' that's how he knew."

"Y-yes," Phil said.

"And by looking at his dick," Clint added. Bucky's eyes narrowed, and Phil hurried to explain.

"Just enough to know it… it wasn't yours," he said.

"I should hope so," Bucky mumbled.

"I'm well acquainted with—"

"I _know_." Bucky's grimace devolved into a sly grin. "Bein' kidnapped is a…" He looked Phil over, smile widening. " _Dirty_ business. I need to get cleaned up. Wanna get reacquainted?"

Phil's cheeks were still burning, but he nodded his head jerkily, and followed Bucky out of medical without a backwards glance. Otherwise, he might've combusted on the spot.

* * *

 **This was requested by an anonymous person on the Phucky Archive:**

" **Pre-established relationship, where Bucky is replaced by an impostor, but Phil figures it out immediately because certain /parts/ aren't quite the same, and Phil awkwardly tries to explain to the team how he knew."**

 **Yep. I do my best to please. :D**

 **Please review!**


	28. Turn Your Calendar Day

"Turn Your Calendar Day"

It was the first of September, the start of a new month, and Phil flipped over the page of his wall calendar before hanging it back up.

Then he noticed something.

He used to rely on electronic calendars and a small one he had on his desk at SHIELD (since he was married to his work, he was there pretty much every day). But then when Bucky still seemed to be having memory issues, Phil suggested that he get a wall calendar – some kind of physical calendar, anyway – and cross off the days as he went. Or if it was a day-to-day desk calendar, he'd be able to turn over every day. Rather than just using technology, by having something he could touch it might ground him.

And it worked. Bucky started to become more sure of the passing days when he had something tangible. He even gave Phil this very calendar for Christmas. It wasn't a Captain America calendar – surprise of surprises – but one of Corvettes, mostly red Corvettes. Phil adored it, and each new month it was nice to see a new picture. He hadn't flipped through it, so he never knew what the next month might bring.

Now he was wondering whether this had been there all along, or whether Bucky had just given up, sneaked into his room at some point, and left the message there. Because scrawled right over the grid of days was 'I LOVE YOU, OKAY?'

"Oh," he said, off-centre. "Right. I… now know what I'm doing today."

And he smiled.

* * *

 **For the first day of September, Turn Your Calendar Day. I love the idea of Bucky getting fed up, sneaking into Phil's room, and scrawling a declaration of love over the days where Phil can't** _ **possibly**_ **miss it. If a calendar of Corvettes wasn't enough of a declaration, obviously he's going to get restless.**

 **Please review!**


	29. Martial Arts

"Martial Arts"

Bucky made a mental note to thank Howard for this later. He nudged forward his foster kids as the instructor walked over to them.

"Welcome," he said. "You must be Mr. Barnes?"

"That's right," Bucky said, shaking his hand. "Uh, you can call me James. Or Bucky. Um, Bucky, I guess."

"Phil Coulson. Pleasure to meet you. So, who's joining the group today?" He looked over the children, thankfully choosing to ignore Bucky's blunder.

"This is Natasha," he said, touching the redhead's shoulder. "She doesn't speak much English, but she understands a lot, and Clint will translate for her."

"I'm not here to train," Clint said, his arms crossed as he stared up at Phil. "I do archery."

"If you decide to join in, you're welcome to," Phil said. "Who else?"

"Bruce here… is a bit quiet," Bucky said, scruffing Bruce's hair with his fingers. "An' Steve here—"

"I wanna learn how to fight," Steve said. "So the bullies'll leave my family alone."

Bucky had his reasons for dragging his wards along to this. Howard Stark swore by these instructors; the last few times someone tried to kidnap Tony, Bruce's best friend, they hadn't gotten far, and were all arrested. Considering that Natasha was tiny, and bullied for being an immigrant; considering that Bruce came from an abusive house-hold where fists were both currency and 'discipline'; considering that Clint could've done with a bit more self-defence training (because who fights with bow and arrows?); and considering Steve's habit of getting into fights with bullies and ultimately getting thrashed…

Well, his foster kids needed a bit of help, a bit of training and _proper_ discipline, and an authority figure other than Bucky. Apparently all the moms – and some of the dads – had crushes on Phil, which he could really see. If ever someone would make an excellent authority figure, it would be a man like this.

"I'll stay to watch," he told the kids. "I promise, I'll only be over here."

"S'long as you don't start flirting with single men," Steve muttered, but he had that twinkle in his eyes that reminded Bucky of how much of a troll his oldest charge could be.

"Just do your best, and imagine how proud Thor will be when he gets back from his vacation with Jane," Bucky said. Their next-door neighbours absolutely doted on Bucky's children, and if it wasn't for the fact that Thor was HUGE, Bucky would've happily asked him to train them. No. This was a better plan than encroaching on his friends' time, especially since he'd feel compelled to offer to pay, and times were getting tough with Steve's iffy health. At least the Shield Academy of Martial Arts had family rates, and gave free lessons to those who couldn't afford it. The exercise might even improve Steve's health.

"You all look smart," Phil said. "I'm sure you'll learn fast. Wanna take the tour?"

They fell into step behind him – even Clint – like ducklings, and Bucky forced himself not to stare at the view of Phil from behind.

* * *

 **You pervert, Bucky. And in front of the children! Won't someone please think of the children?**

 **Please review, folks!**


	30. Birthday Headcanon 3

"Birthday Headcanon 3"

Headcanon: One of the things that Steve has told the team is that Bucky used to say 'Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck', which has led to debates about old wives' tales and superstitions and the like. Phil definitely doesn't believe in any superstitions, other than that saying 'Nothing will go wrong' invariable leads to a mission going FUBAR. One day, he's walking along, tailing someone who's been behaving suspiciously and has a high-tech mechanical arm – which Natasha says could mean the Winter Soldier – when he sees a penny on the sidewalk. He's lost track of the suspicious person, so he picks up the penny, intending to drop it into a charity box or give it to a busker, when good luck strikes. He runs – perhaps literally? – into the Winter Soldier, recognises him as Bucky Barnes, and then takes him back to the tower. Then months later…

 _"_ _Phil, what's this?" Bucky asked, pawing through Phil's underwear drawer for bugs._

 _"_ _I have no idea," Phil said, not bothering to look up from his book. "Good morning to you, too, Bucky."_

 _"_ _It's a penny," Bucky said, ignoring the subtle admonishment, and held it up as he turned around. The tips of Phil's ears reddened, and he sank down in the covers._

 _"_ _Oh," he said. "That." Bucky continued to give him a questioning look. "Uh, that's the penny I picked off the ground the day I found you. I decided that it must've been good luck, so I kept it. I mean, things have been as usual with work a-and with the Avengers, but things keep getting better with you. I figured that if some old wives' tale was responsible, better not to spit in the face of fate."_

 _Bucky grinned as he bounced over to the bed, then hopped onto the covers._

 _"_ _Most people who know you wouldn't guess how romantic you can be," he remarked._

 _"_ _Not romantic. Just…"_

 _"_ _Sappy."_

 _Phil sniffed. "If you want to go with that, then yes. Sappy."_

 _Bucky kissed him on the top of his head. "Phil, you never needed a coin to keep me. Even if I was a gold-digger, you can't do much with a penny._ But _…" He hurried to put the coin back, then returned to perch beside Phil. "Maybe we should keep it, just in case. I don't wanna risk bad luck, in case I lose you."_

 _"_ _Now who's being sappy?"_

* * *

 **This is for Shikasgirl10 on AO3. In celebration of Lost Penny Day.**

 **Please review! Feel free to send in your birthday requests.**


	31. Choose Your Topping

"Choose Your Topping"

Contrary to public perception, the Avengers rarely ate an entirely meal together; it was an honest accident if it happened. Post-major-battle meals didn't count, because they were freak occurrences, and meant takeout at some weird hour. But ever since the Avengers grew from the original six to more than double that, their handler had insisted on an occasional shared meal which took _actual_ preparation time, in the _actual_ kitchen on the shared floor.

Bucky… well, he was still getting used to choice. If pushed to, he'd make something in the kitchen while no one else was around, or eat whatever Steve put in front of him, but he didn't offer any opinions otherwise. Admittedly, when it was all of them getting takeout they'd buy heaps due to the high metabolism of several Avengers, his included, but he viewed food as fuel, not something to be savoured.

Tonight was Pizza Night. Several batches of dough had been made, rolled out, and now Phil was taking orders. The others were all happy to detail which toppings they wanted; when it came to Bucky, however, he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

"Okay," he said mildly. Steve, rightly, looked terrified. "Does he have allergies?"

"No."

"Strong dislikes? Fruit? Nuts? Spicy foods?"

"Uh… he didn't used to, but then it's not like we had any choice. We'd eat what we could get. The most we had in the way of luxury was bar food."

"Great," Phil muttered. "Alright. I'll make him a… yes, I know what I'll do. Thank you for informing me, Captain Rogers."

Steve winced. Maybe it wasn't fair to use title plus surname – it was no one's fault, least of all Steve's – but Phil hated undertaking missions with next to no information.

* * *

At dinner-time, Bucky was nervous when Phil brought him into the kitchen.

"You really don't know what you want on your pizza?" Phil asked without preamble.

"Anything's fine with me," Bucky said.

"Anything is _not_ fine," Phil said. "You deserve better than just 'anything'." Bucky fidgeted, unsure how to answer that. "So I came up with a solution." He tilted his head, awaiting clarification. "I've made you a plain cheese pizza."

"…Oh?"

Phil showed him to the large pizza, separate to all the rest, which literally just had tomato paste and melted cheese. But Bucky noticed something he wasn't expecting: numerous silver bowls around it, with heaps of different things. Meats, vegetables, herbs, all sorts of toppings, all cooked. Other sauces to drizzle on top.

"Everyone's just going to dig in as soon as they have their pizza in front of them," Phil said. "Take your time. Try everything. The plate's sitting on a heating element, so the pizza won't go cold. Just make sure you don't burn yourself. The toppings are already cooked and still hot, so the pizza doesn't have to go back in the oven."

"You… did you do this just for me?" Bucky said. Phil frowned at him.

"Of course I did," he said. "You're one of my people."

In a fit of compulsion, Bucky leaned across and kissed him. He took his time when Phil didn't immediately shove him away. When he finally drew back, he licked his lips, taking in the blush on Phil's face.

"If I could put _that_ on my pizza, I wouldn't ever need anything else," he murmured, and he smiled slowly at Phil.

"Uh… I've gotta… the others…" Cheeks turning even redder, Phil hurried to the pizzas on the other counter and started to take them out.

With a smirk, Bucky turned his attention to making up his pizza.

* * *

 **For Cheese Pizza Day! Please review, folks! I was original going to make some inappropriate joke about 'topping' (in the bedroom), but it didn't fit.**


	32. No News

"No News"

The last time they'd heard from the rest of the team was eleven hours ago. Phil tried to ignore any significance which could be attached to the number. Steve promised to check in as soon as they could, and not to worry for six hours. Clearly he'd been optimistic, leaving Bucky – still not cleared for fieldwork – and Phil waiting for contact. Nothing yet, and when they'd informed SHIELD some newbie had the effrontery to say that 'no news was good news'. Phil put him on report.

"Any minute now," he said softly. Bucky didn't say anything; only stood up and strode to the window. He technically wasn't supposed to have left headquarters, but Phil had smuggled him out in case they needed backup. Also, Bucky was going stir crazy, and… now Phil was grateful for the company.

Another few hours passed, and he still couldn't get the Avengers on the comms. It would be nearly impossible to pinpoint their location, and definitely impossible to effect a rescue between only the two of them. It was the worst kind of waiting game, and Phil nearly jumped through the roof when the radio crackled to life. Bucky was sitting beside him in an instant, and Natasha's voice came through, patchy but real.

"…shelter, don't worry… treat us when we get there… nearly conscious…" He didn't dare fiddle with the controls to get better clarity, in case they lost the connection, and he hoped that Bucky could hear whatever he missed. "…eve took a fall, and we're all exhausted… have to preserve battery… make contact in ten hours…"

"Natasha, are _you_ going to make contact, or are we supposed to?" Phil said loudly, hoping the radio was working both ways.

"…wait for us… go now…"

Then the crackling stopped. One-way radio, then. Phil set his phone for nine hours and fifty-seven minutes, in case the Avengers really did turn their comms off for ten hours, and expected Bucky and Phil to initiate contact then.

"`Least we know they're okay," Bucky said after a few minutes of silence. "Didn't sound pre-recorded."

"Or coerced," Phil said. He didn't realise his hands had been shaking until Bucky covered them with his. "Thank God."

"Come here," Bucky murmured, pulling Phil into his arms. Phil felt ridiculous, that he had to be comforted when he was usually the strong one they all came to. Even Steve and Thor came to him when life got too much. And here, one of the most damaged people he knew was crooning softly to him, cradling him, pulling him down to lie on the sofa, holding him so much closer…

* * *

When Phil's phone went off, it was morning, and he didn't want to move. He pieced together what had happened, why his alarm was on, why he was in a state of undress, what had _led_ to it… oh.

"Shit," he hissed, and he nearly fell off the sofa – what, was he a teenage boy again? – as he reached for his cell phone. He turned off the alarm, and made sure that the comm. channel was open. He looked up from his place on the floor, and saw Bucky observing him with a blank face.

"Only a minute left," he said.

"Yeah," Phil said. "Uh, Bucky… last night…"

"It was just for comfort," Bucky said. "That's all."

"I know. Always a mistake. I promise, it won't happen again. As soon as I can arrange it, I'll make sure you're on the team for future missions."

"Thank you," Bucky said, his tone still as stiff as his body. Phil grabbed the few things of his on the floor and tugged them on, before nearly leaping out of his skin when the radio crackled to life again.

"Who's there?" he asked, hoping it was two-way again.

"Good to hear you, Phil," Steve said. "Bucky there with you?"

"Yes," Bucky said, and Phil tried not to tense at how close he was.

"In the same position as before?"

"Yes," Phil said.

"Tony says we'll be there in half an hour. I think he's being optimistic—"

"I'll get ready for a… a debriefing," Phil said, looking at the mess around him.

"Someone will contact you when we're nearly there. Over and out."

"Roger that. Over and out." Now more confident, Phil switched off the microphone from their end, and gradually got to his feet, feeling his age more than usual in the creaking of muscles which rarely got that kind of workout.

 _Just for comfort_ , he reminded himself, not looking at Bucky.

* * *

 **Little bit of angst for No News Is Good News Day. If I haven't said it before now, if anyone wants to continue any of these stories then PLEASE DO. I'm sick and tired of being one of the few people writing this ship.**

 **Please review!**


	33. Birthday Headcanon 4

"Birthday Headcanon 4"

Headcanon: Bucky has a list, like Steve, of things he missed after he fell from that train and lost seventy years of his life. He copied some things from Steve – it's not like _he's_ had time to study people like Steve Jobs, being so busy with trying to stop HYDRA and Ultron and find Bucky – so some of these things they investigate together. They even plan to have a party on Steve Jobs Day (to get back at Tony after he recommended they look up Cold Chisel, one of the members being _Jimmy Barnes_.) When they're stuck, or they're not sure whether someone is pranking them, they go to Phil, who ends up buying them the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica, as well as a subscription to the web version.

 _"_ _Ya think he's sick of us bugging him about modern stuff?" Bucky asked Steve, flicking through the pages of volume three._

 _"_ _Nah," Steve said, scrolling down the Steve Jobs page in the electronic encyclopaedia. Tony was gonna be pissed off when they announced the party, complete with everything Apple-themed. It's okay; they were planning a Disney-Pixar movie marathon for the evening. "I think Phil likes seeing us."_

 _"_ _I guess it breaks up his day a bit," Bucky said, casually turning another page while he glanced at Steve's back._

 _"_ _That, and he has the worst crush on you," Steve replied._

 _Bucky spluttered. "H-he doesn't!"_

 _"_ _He do-oes!" Steve sang softly._

 _"_ _Well… well, he has a crush on you, too!"_

 _"_ _Doesn't stare at me longingly when I leave the room."_

 _"_ _"If that's true, why'd he get this stuff so we won't bother him anymore?" he said._

 _Steve shrugged, humming. "Don't know. Maybe he doesn't want you to figure it out? He's been safe so far, considering it took me pointing it out to you."_

 _"_ _Huh."_

 _There was a knock at the door to the apartment, and Bucky set the book aside to answer. It was another delivery from the bookstore, another pair of huge boxes. He signed for them, carted them over to the coffee table, and tore the tape off. Another gift from Phil._

 _"_ _Either that, or this is the world's weirdest courting," he said. "He bought us the entire Oxford English Dictionary. Unabridged."_

 _"_ _And the electronic version," Steve said. "Just got an email about it."_

 _"_ _Implying that you think someone is stupid definitely isn't a good start to courting," Bucky said. "I think he's just being nice."_

 _"_ _You should still take him out to dinner. Y'know, to thank him for this."_

 _Slowly, Bucky smiled. Now_ there _was an idea…_

* * *

 **For Mari_Knickerbocker on AO3. Both Steve Jobs Day and Dictionary Day.**

 **Please review!**


	34. Piratical

"Piratical"

"Avast!"

Even Natasha jumped when Bucky leapt into the room, and Clint had bow and arrow at the ready before any of them could so much as blink. He lowered his weapon, and the others all relaxed, when they saw Bucky wearing an eye-patch, with a hook instead of a hand, and a cheesy pirate hat sitting on his head. He grinned, and some of his teeth had been blacked out. Combined with his long hair tumbling to his shoulders, and the stubble he'd been growing for a few days, he looked like the classic pirate. Especially in the costume.

"That's a new look," was all Steve managed to say. The others just continued to gape silently. Bucky rolled his eyes, and looked back over his shoulder.

"Phil, get out here!" he called. "I ain't doin' this alone!"

Their handler trudged into the room, also with a hook where his robotic hand usually was, a stuffed toy parrot somehow attached to his shoulder, and the most deadpan expression on his face. He'd forgone an eye-patch and tricorn hat in favour of a bandana, and he was wearing an actual sword. At least the guns on Bucky's belt were old-fashioned pistols, rather than modern weapons. But Phil didn't look the least bit enthusiastic; unlike Bucky, who was grinning like a child.

"Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum," Phil said. Yep. Zero enthusiasm. Clint snickered, but when Phil gave him a sharp look the smile quickly dropped.

"What d'you think?" Bucky asked, seemingly not bothered by his partner's lack of eagerness as he twirled in place, red coat swirling around his waist. "I got `em from a costume shop."

"You could never tell," Tony said. Bucky flipped him the bird, and very nearly pranced to Phil's side.

"We're going trick-or-treating at SHIELD," he said. "If we collect enough candy, we'll definitely share."

"We're not going to intimidate anyone into giving us sweets when it isn't even Halloween yet," Phil said sternly.

"What the hell is the point in wearing a scary costume if it's not gonna intimidate anyone?"

"Bucky…"

"I promise, Phil, we'll leave early if you hate it," Bucky said, holding up a hand in a solemn gesture. "Or if Fury threatens to make us walk the plank. Especially me, for wearing a patch. An' then when we get home I'll shiver your timbers. Sound fair?"

Phil stared at him for a moment, and then glanced at the Avengers.

"We'll be back later," he said, and dragged Bucky out of the room.

* * *

 **For Talk Like a Pirate Day, of course! In honour of the day, Mum and I listened to a recording of 'The Pirates of Penzance', and I made sword-shaped biscuits/cookies. There are pictures on my Tumblr. I made music note-shaped biscuits as well, because it's Piano Month.**

 **Please review! Oh, and I'm still taking prompts, here and on Tumblr. For anything Phucky-related, quite frankly. And if I don't know whether I'll be able to handle the prompt, I'll throw it open to other people. Don't be shy, folks!**


	35. Husband or Wife?

"Husband or Wife?"

"Phil, it's Wife Appreciation Day."

He glanced up at Bucky. "And?"

"…Didn't ya just hear me?"

"It may've escaped your notice," Phil said, removing his glasses, and he arched an eyebrow when Bucky bounced onto the bed in front of him, "but we're not married."

"We can change that whenever you want, but that's not what I'm gettin' at," Bucky said, waving away the casual mention of marriage like it wasn't a major thing. Phil raised his other eyebrow. "When we get married, who's gonna be the wife?"

Phil suppressed a sigh. "Were you planning on one of us undergoing a sex change?"

"No." Bucky gave him an 'Are you crazy?' look. "But someone's gotta be called the wife, right?"

"Oh my God, I'll kill whichever SHIELD agent didn't give you and Rogers the full talk," he muttered, and he set his book and glasses aside. He blinked when Bucky pecked him on the nose, again acting like it was nothing. "Okay. Wedding vows can be changed. It doesn't have to be 'husband and wife'. Same-sex marriage is a thing, which you apparently know. Neither of us tops exclusively, and we both tidy and cook and do DIY around the place. No labels necessary."

"But what if we adopt kids? Who's gonna be gettin' gifts on Mothers' Day?"

Seventy years of brainwashing clearly had some kind of detrimental effect on a person's perception of how significant an issue was. Talking about children already? (And in their line of work?) Bucky was watching Phil patiently, while he struggled for an answer.

"W-well, academic as it is," he said, "we'd both receive gifts on Fathers' Day."

"Oh." Phil let Bucky mull this over as he resumed reading. When his lover flopped down beside him, Phil spared him a glance.

"Did that help?" he asked.

"I guess," Bucky said. "Thanks."

"Did you _want_ to get married?"

"Was wonderin' how this Saturday would sound?"

"You have a strange way of proposing."

* * *

 **For Wife Appreciation Day. Obviously. I don't know why I'm obsessed with these Days of the Year things, but they're fun, and they're great inspiration for stories, even if they're only one-shots. And hey, I have a WIP called 'Pianissimo', being posted bit by bit on the archive. It's in honour of Piano Month, a non-powered music shop/pianist AU. Lots of fun, I hope.**

 **Please review!**


	36. Memory Problems

"Memory Problems"

"Short term memory loss," Bruce said.

"What can we do about it?" Steve asked, glancing at Bucky's slumped shoulders with a heavy heart.

"The interesting thing is that it's only James who has the memory loss. The Winter Soldier's memory is remarkable."

"Ironic," Bucky muttered.

Bruce cleared his throat. "James remembers most things, but it takes awhile for new memories to stick, so it's not the usual form of short term memory loss. That's just the best name I can give it. Because of the serum he was injected with, his brain is constantly healing part of itself, and when he finds a way to remember something it _will_ stay there. But something he's forgotten that he can't get back… stays lost. I'm not saying forever; the human brain is capable of great things. So I asked to speak to the Soldier. _He_ remembers every step he's taken in battle, where every shot went, what everyone else did. He even recalls what James can't."

"You can call me Bucky, y'know."

"…Bucky. What I would suggest, since I'm guessing you don't want to rely on the Winter Soldier all the time…?" Bucky shook his head. "Keep a diary that you can consult. When you're around the mansion you can ask JARVIS to replay something you might've forgotten, but anything which has taken place somewhere he hasn't got eyes, try to write it down so you can remember it later. Maybe check at the end of each day. This could help heal the damage HYDRA did."

Bucky snorted. "Better idea than anything else," he said. "I'll get onto it."

"I'll make sure he doesn't forget," Steve said. "Thanks, Bruce."

"You're welcome, Steve," Bruce said, cleaning his glasses on the edge of his shirt.

"It's like somethin' outta one of those damn soap operas," Bucky said, gingerly getting down from the examination table. "Amnesia, huh?"

"See?" Bruce said. "You remembered that." Bucky glared at him. "Just try not to take any bumps to the head."

"Wasn't plannin' t' go out an' get into trouble. That'd piss Coulson off."

"You can have one of my sketchbooks until I can go out and get a notebook for you," Steve said, hovering at Bucky's side as he ambled to the elevator.

"Notebook? Oh, for a diary. Yeah."

* * *

 _A month later_

The Winter Soldier was hard at work against the latest threat – von Doom's newest toys – when there was an explosion. A bunch of cars down one end of the street, close to the Winter Soldier, had been targeted. He tried to ignore the loud voices in his ear, wrenching off the head of another Doombot, when someone – could've been the archer – said that Coulson was down that way. The Winter Soldier recalled seeing their handler nearby, and between shooting down robots he looked around, but he couldn't see the man. He wasn't replying over the comm. units, either.

"I'll find him," he said, kicking a Doombot away as hard as he could. Then he jogged to the affected area, noting that there were no flames around, nothing to suggest that another explosion was imminent. There were some robots around, and a groan in his unit. Or was the groan from nearby?

"Goddamnit," he heard, and that definitely wasn't over the comms. He saw another robot fly away after a shot, and the Winter Soldier ducked around a flaming wreck. It was Coulson, wincing as he continued to shoot down the threats. He looked over when the Winter Soldier walked closer, and smiled. "Cover for me while I reload my taser. Seems more effective than bullets."

The Winter Soldier crouched behind him. "Why won't you respond on the comms?"

"Shit. The blast must've knocked mine out of commission. Explains why no one was replying." He moved one of his legs and hissed. "Okay, that hurts. But there." He clicked his taser cartridge into place. "Ready."

"You're hurt," the Winter Soldier said.

"No kidding," Coulson said, and he looked up from behind the car. He aimed, and fried one of the nearest Doombots. The Winter Soldier remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and stayed with Coulson until the battle was wrapped up. He was able to tell the rest of the Avengers that Coulson was alive, and stood to leave. When Coulson tried to follow, his right leg buckled, and the Winter Soldier caught him, recognising how pale their handler was.

"Someone bring Banner as soon as he's back," the Soldier said, holding Coulson still.

"I'm fine," Coulson muttered. A blatant lie, and the Winter Soldier glared at him.

"No, you're injured," he said. "Walking is obviously impossible for you right now."

"Wow, great bedside manner."

The Winter Soldier frowned, acknowledging that he probably wasn't the best person to be offering comfort. So he closed his eyes and focussed on becoming James Barnes. The fighting was over, and Coulson was in no state for a debrief, so the Winter Soldier was no use to anyone right now. When he opened his eyes again, he looked down at Coulson. With non-battle perspective, he saw the cuts and bruises, the unnatural way Coulson's leg was angled, and blood on the front of his shirt. It wasn't robot blood, and it wasn't Bucky's blood, so it was Phil's.

"You're hurt," he said, hating how his voice shook as he rested his hand over the probable source of the blood. Phil whined softly, and grabbed Bucky's wrist.

"And you're back to Barnes," he said, _his_ voice impressively steady.

"This…" Bucky tore open the front of Phil's shirt and saw shards of metal embedded in the skin. "Oh God, the cars exploded—"

"Only one of them, and it's not deep."

"Get medical _now_ ," Bucky snarled into his comm. unit.

"Already on their way," Steve said, sounding breathless. "Hang on. We're coming."

"Phil," Bucky whispered, shifting him in his arms so their handler could lie more comfortably. He noticed a streak of blood on his arm, and touched the back of Phil's head. His hand came away bloody. "Oh shit. Head wound."

"`Splains why I feel dizzy," Phil said. His eyes closed, and Bucky panicked.

"No, no, don't fall asleep," he said, shaking Phil, who grimaced. "You've gotta stay awake. Open your eyes!"

"Myths," Phil said faintly.

"Don't go to sleep!" Bucky held him closer, shaking the man again and hoping that he'd snap out of it. "C'mon, Phil."

"It's okay…"

"It's not!" Bucky leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Please, Phil."

That got his eyes opening wide. Phil stared at him.

"Did you just…?"

"Please, Phil," Bucky repeated. Then he kissed their handler on the lips, lingering for a few seconds.

"Oh," Phil murmured, and Bucky watched in dismay as Phil's eyes fluttered shut again. He wouldn't be roused, and Bucky didn't let go of him until a stretcher arrived.

* * *

They all had to be checked out in medical, and Bucky only meant to rest his eyes for a minute. When he opened them, most of the others were gone. He knew that being the Winter Soldier took a lot out of him, and worked out that that must've been the case this time `cause Steve was at the end of the hospital bed, arms crossed, still in uniform.

"What happened?" Bucky asked.

"Victor von Doom," Steve said.

"Ah." Bucky sat up slowly, well aware that sitting up too quickly could make him dizzy, serum or no serum. "We won?"

"Yes."

"Of course." His smile dropped when he looked across the room and saw Phil lying there, with bandages around his torso and padding on the back of his head, as well as a cast on his leg. "What the hell happened to Coulson?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Steve said. "Shrapnel from the explosion—"

"Explosion?"

"From the cars." Bucky couldn't remember any of this, and said so. Steve sighed, and continued. "Well, there are bruises on his back and his leg's in a bad way, so it looks like he might've been knocked off his feet. Any communications after that weren't recorded, and he hasn't woken up yet."

"An' I'm hardly a reliable witness."

"You will be once you remember," Steve said.

"D'you want the Winter Soldier?"

"You've already been him today. I don't wanna push you."

"You won't," Bucky said. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rubbed his temples. "Okay. I… I know I took some-a the… the robot things down." He tried to catch the fragmented images floating through his mind. "Damn it! Uh… then there was the blast. Pretty near me…" Vehicles. He could see `em… sorta. "I don't remember seein' Ph… Coulson, but you…" Words on the comms. "I think you were tryin'-a talk t' him?"

"We were," Steve said. "You said you'd—"

"Find `im," Bucky said. He nodded, but there was still a big blank. "I think I did."

"You did." They both looked over at Phil, whose rasping voice interrupted them.

"I'll get a nurse," Steve said.

"Got a cord here," Bucky said, and he pressed the button to summon someone. "How ya feelin', Coulson?"

"Remember anything else?" Phil asked.

"Not really. There was blood… I mean, there must've been blood. It's hard to… get hold of anythin' real. All kinda blurry." He grimaced. "I remember feelin' cold, though. Scared you were gonna… die."

"I'm still here," Phil said, and he tried to sit up as Steve offered him water. "Not ice chips? Surprised."

"Maybe I'm not s'posed to," Steve said, holding the cup out of reach. "I'd better wait for a doctor or nurse."

"Hmph." Phil slumped back, and looked over at Bucky again. "You sure you don't remember anything else? At all?"

"I'm tryin'! It's hard—"

"Okay, I'm sorry," Phil said. "I shouldn't be pushing you. It's… some of it's not very clear to me, either."

"You were wounded," Steve said sternly. "I'd be surprised if you remembered with any kind of clarity."

"At least I can't be blamed for getting injured this time."

As they bickered, Bucky knew there was something important he was missing, but damned if he could remember what it was.

* * *

 _Another month later (because they don't have THAT many battles)_

The Winter Soldier's memory was exceptional; however, fighting a new supervillain was neither the time nor the place to be thinking over other encounters unless the current baddie had a similar style to a previous foe. It wasn't until after the mission debrief at medical that he wondered why Coulson was so distant. Did the Winter Soldier do something wrong? Was he supposed to make the next move?

"You can go back to James now," Banner told the Winter Soldier.

James. The one with memory loss. Surely he didn't forget…?

Goddamnit.

The Winter Soldier retreated to his room and found his diary. He wrote down what he recalled from the last time Coulson had been injured, when the Winter Soldier… as James had kissed him. The Winter Soldier had no emotions, but he had his memory, and he wasn't giving up this chance. If nothing else, one of them needed to address the matter with Coulson, and James was better suited to the task.

Entry finished, the Winter Soldier remained standing. He couldn't risk falling asleep as he did last time, which no doubt contributed to forgetting what took place. He found the box in his mind where the Winter Soldier lived, and allowed James to take over control again.

"JARVIS, don't let me lie down until I've talked to Ph… Coulson," Bucky said, swaying as he bent over to pick up the notebook. The Winter Soldier had left it open, pen pointing at what he'd freshly written.

"Of course, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS said. Bucky swiftly read through the latest entry in his journal, and his head spun.

"Christ," he said. "I screwed up. JARVIS, where's—?"

"Mr. Coulson is in the medical ward, speaking to Captain Rogers."

"Thanks." Bucky dropped the notebook and ran to the nearest elevator. It opened before he got there, and he didn't have to press a button as JARVIS took him back to medical. He barely registered the others around him as he barrelled into Phil and shoved him against the wall. He shrugged off Steve's hands and kissed their handler, hoping he wasn't outta line even as his best friend protested.

"Bucky, what the hell are you—?"

"I forgot, I'm sorry, the Soldier told me, I'm so sorry I forgot," he babbled to Phil, who was staring at him. "Damn it, this amnesia thing sucks, and you probably hate me, but since I forgot my first kiss with you I wanted to have one to remember, and I hope to God I don't forget this one because I'll never get another—"

"Shut up," Phil said, and he tilted his head to catch Bucky's lips.

* * *

 **Not sure what sparked this idea. I've read stories where Bucky and the Winter Soldier are like Bruce and the Hulk, but usually Bucky remembers what the Winter Soldier does and vice versa. What if Bucky forgot kissing Phil for the first time, and the Soldier was the one who remembered?**

 **Anyway. Please review!**


	37. Comic Book Day

"Comic Book Day"

"Isn't that kinda narcissistic?" Bucky asked, looking over Steve's shoulder as he sketched.

"Who else am I s'posed to use as models?" Steve replied. He was definitely recognisable as Captain America, the hero of his new comic book. SHIELD Comics wanted several new series after the success of the Iron Man line he'd written and illustrated. He'd used their friend Tony as the face of Iron Man, since he was the one who got Steve the job at SHIELD in the first place. He also used Bucky as the Winter Soldier, Natasha as the Black Widow, Sam as the Falcon, all of them getting their five-comic lines. He'd been persuaded to base a comic character on his own likeness, after years of shying away from it.

"I notice that he's a lot buffer than you are," Bucky said, poking Steve's skinny shoulder gently. It would still leave a bruise, and they both knew it. But Bucky was having a bad day, and his bestie didn't mind being needled on those days. Hell, whenever Steve was pissed off he antagonised Bucky. It was their thing.

"Who'd wanna twig-like asthmatic with a heart problem for a superhero?" Steve said.

"Aw." Bucky hugged him from behind, awkward thanks to the back of the chair being in the way. "I would."

"Sap," Steve said. "Anyway, I'm bringin' you in. I mean, the Winter Soldier, plus some of the others. Maybe Hawkeye. And Phil's gonna appear as a damsel-in-distress, or so Captain America thinks—"

"Captain America!" Bucky cackled. "You're seriously using that name?"

"For the time bein'," he muttered. "You wanna hear the rest of it?"

"Yeah, sure." Bucky jumped over the sofa and bounced on the seat beside Steve, careful to wait until the pencil was away from the page. "So. Phil's gonna hate bein' a damsel-in-distress. Is he a barista in the story?"

"Turns out that he's a secret agent, and he becomes Captain America's sidekick for part of the book, until they meet the Winter Soldier, who turns out to be Captain America's long-lost adopted brother." Bucky raised an eyebrow, but Steve continued. "Then the Winter Soldier and Agent… whatever name I give him, they get together. Might leave that for the end of book three. They can have their first date in volume four, a bit of a relief before all the heavy stuff, and a cliff-hanger at the end for tension, like they won't get their happy ending. Then they'll all defeat the big crime organisation – I'll steal a name from mythology for that – and happily ever after for the Agent and the Winter Soldier."

Bucky gaped, and felt his cheeks heat up. "You're giving me… I mean, you're giving the Winter Soldier Ph… uh, Phil's character?"

"You're welcome," Steve said.

"What'll Phil say?"

"By then hopefully you and Phil will be sucking face too much to be pissed off at me for settin' your characters up together."

After all, with Sam ready to trick Bucky into a date with Phil, and Natasha ready to do her part with Phil, they couldn't fail. Still, Steve wasn't gonna mention it to Bucky. He had a comic book to write. He'd leave Bucky's love life to the experts.

* * *

 **Because it's Comic Book Day, which meant I had to go the semi-obvious route. (Tee-hee;** _ **root**_ **.) Match-making via comics. Why not?**

 **Please review!**


	38. Lumberjack

"Lumberjack"

Bucky Barnes didn't chop as much wood as his best friend, but he held his own, despite the prosthetic limb. It didn't hamper him as much as it used to, and he counted himself lucky that he'd got any work, let alone physical stuff like this. He didn't need to be treated with kid gloves, damn it! He needed to be left to his own devices, and that was that. Steve got it eventually, although he was more inclined to remind Bucky to drink water than remember to do it himself.

They were working on an estate owned by a man named Coulson, who hadn't batted an eye when Steve introduced him to Bucky, back from service overseas and itchin' to do something. And Bucky _knew_ the guy had noticed his arm. But he didn't comment, other than to say that he hoped their whole team would be warm enough, and that if they weren't – or if they got too warm – to let him know.

It wasn't a huge estate, but Coulson recently inherited it, and needed workers to help clear the land. Barton had a team working on renovations around the house while Coulson worked in the office, apparently talking to lawyers and accountants to get the measure of the situation. Bucky figured he was a city boy who didn't know squat about getting his hands dirty.

His daughter Skye was cool, though. She was the one who brought out extra drinks and snacks, and made sure they took breaks. She provided them with sunscreen, and complained about her father – "Adopted father, the best a girl could get if he could just get off that damn phone sometime!" – being so busy.

"I'm sure he's only doing what he has to," Steve said. Skye blatantly looked him over, and Steve ducked his head, blushing. He was already flushed from the work, but any time someone showed him interest he got bashful. At least he had enough morals not to go for a minor, which Skye definitely was.

"Well, I'm gonna leave you to get back to work, try to get Dad to have lunch, or something resembling it." She jerked her thumb back over her shoulder. "Don't forget, it's cooler inside. You know, if taking off your shirts to work doesn't help."

She sauntered back into the house, and Bucky snorted into his energy drink as Steve looked at him helplessly.

"You're the one who used to get ogled," he whined. "Buck, what do I do?"

"Don't ask me," Bucky said. "Guys are a lot subtler at checking other guys out, `specially in the army, and no one seems to go for robot arms. If I wanna get laid, I'll have to go to a science convention, and I think I've had enough of fancy tech to last me ten lifetimes." He clapped a despondent-looking Steve on the shoulder. "Back to work, boss?"

Steve sighed. "Yeah."

Coulson came out to see them a few times that afternoon, since Skye had apparently succeeded in getting him to take a break. He spoke with everyone individually, even Bucky, making sure they were okay. It was more consideration than they usually got from home-owners. He should've been wearing a helmet when he was around the renovations, but he was pretty safe around Bucky and Steve and the others clearing the land.

Bucky's job at the moment was chopping up spare wood for when winter came, since there was a fireplace and a woodshed, and Coulson wasn't planning to sell the estate yet. According to Skye, at least, and she seemed pretty well-informed. Bucky thought anyone who'd give up this kind of place would be an idiot, but he reminded himself that Coulson was a city boy, and probably didn't have the first clue how to run a place this size. He could've always asked Barton for farming advice.

"Where did you get it?"

"Huh?" Bucky stared blankly, and Coulson gestured to the prosthesis. "Oh. A bomb went off, an' I was too close to it. Steve knows someone at Stark Industries."

"Ah, of course." Coulson nodded, hands still in his pockets. "Stark Industries. I should've known. They do good work."

"Yeah, well." Bucky didn't mention that Stark himself had worked on the arm, considering it a challenge. "Can I help ya with anythin' else?"

"No, sorry. I'll let you get back to work. Make sure you keep up your liquids."

Bucky nodded, and watched Coulson retreat to the house. Steve tutted.

"You could've been a bit friendlier," he said. "I know it's a touchy subject for you, but he's our boss. You're lucky he's the laidback type."

He reddened, but didn't reply.

* * *

They were still working for Coulson a week later, in spire of Bucky's stilted conversation whenever he had to talk to the man. But Coulson seemed easier with him, even talked to him longer than the other guys, and Bucky managed to come out of his shell enough to crack a few inappropriate jokes. They usually made Coulson laugh, sometimes turn pink in the cheeks, but he nearly always pulled a few smiles out of the guy.

Skye still came out to talk to them every day, and personally thanked Bucky – quite effusively, in hindsight – for cheering her dad up.

"I really can't thank you enough," she said. "I haven't seen him smile this much since Great-Aunt Bette left him this… mess." She looked around. "Okay, it's not a mess anymore, but you've seen pictures of what it was like before, right?"

"When we started out here?" Steve said, and Bucky was grateful that he was there.

"Even before that," she said. "When she bought the house and the land, it was a real dive." She pulled out her phone. "Dad's an only child, and he kind of accidentally adopted me, so we're all each other has. And this was before I was born." She showed Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha pictures of a heap of a place, much worse than before they got there. Hell, Bucky only joined a week in, because Steve wanted to make the team invaluable to Coulson before asking if he'd take Bucky on as well.

"Who worked on it before?" Natasha asked, tilting her head to get a better look around Steve's hulking frame.

"Well, Dad did most of it, though I think he got friends to help the first time around," she said. "Then he was in the army, and when he got back…" She swiped along, past a photo of a much improved mansion, to one where it had clearly lost some of its glory. "Kept him occupied, along with some ex-army pals. Then there was the accident…" She trailed off again, this time looking into space. "That's how we met. I was in the other car. He didn't hold it against my parents, and I was there for his recovery, even after I was released. Then he took me on. I'm lucky to have him."

"Any more photos?" Sam asked, breaking the awkward silence, thank God.

"Much of the same," she said, swiping through a few more images, before and after, some close-ups of Coulson doing the same kind of work they were doing, along with a few other men and women helping out. Not so much of a city boy.

"Then why'd he hire us?" Bucky said. Skye raised her eyebrows. "Not that we're not grateful for the work, obviously, but it looks like he did a hell of a job before."

"`Cause of what he lost in the accident," she said.

"Not that it's any of our business," Steve said, nudging Bucky hard.

"I'm… gonna go back inside, see if Dad needs any help," Skye said. "Sorry to distract you. Don't mind me. But… thanks for… indulging him, I guess. He doesn't have many friends, and I'm basically the only person he's seen around these parts except for you guys. And I'm not much of a one for grown-up conversation." She shrugged, shoving her phone back into her jeans. "Especially you, Bucky. It's been great. I'm glad he has someone he can talk to about… things."

She hesitated, and then walked back up the hill. Bucky glanced at the others, and then shrugged.

* * *

Coulson and Skye had started making up bags or boxes of food for the team working away from the house, especially when they had to venture into the woods or otherwise deviate from the main work site. The next day there was a note addressed to Bucky slipped into his sandwich bag, and he frowned as he read it.

"Any of you guys get a message?" he asked, turning over the paper.

"Nope," Sam said. Natasha shook her head, and Steve pawed through his bag.

"I got nothing," he said. "You seriously got a message?" His expression darkened, and he tensed up. "They're not lettin' you go, are they?"

Bucky rolled. "Course not," he said. "It says 'Hope you're having a nice day. Love the jeans.'" He looked down at the ratty old things, which he wore because they were comfortable. Well, except for the way they clung to his calves, but Natasha said he had nice calves, and she danced in her spare time, so she probably knew what she was talking about. Sam laughed.

"I bet I know which part of the jeans they like best," he said. Natasha smirked.

"Your legs have nothing on your ass, in other words," she explained, when Bucky tipped his head in confusion. "I think you just got a secret admirer's note."

"Aw, man," Bucky muttered. "Skye."

"She's been paying you a lot more attention since you started being nice to her dad," Steve pointed out. "Better you than me."

"Wha— Why?"

"She's even less likely to get anywhere with you, considering your type."

"I like girls as well," he grumbled. "It's just… been awhile, is all."

"Coulson's daughter has a crush on you," Natasha sang, before taking a swig of water.

"You're all horrible friends, and I don't know why I hang out with you," he said.

"Maybe it's a one-off," Sam said, the only voice of reason. "Maybe we'll each get a note, and that'll be it. Something to keep our spirits up."

"Don't need my anythin' bein' kept up by jailbait," Bucky said. "This is a nice place to work. Not screwin' it up because of a twink with a crush." He grimaced when he looked at his replacement arm. "What does she even see in…? No, not goin' down that rabbit hole. No way."

"Suit yourself," Natasha said, dusting her hands as she stood up. "I'm getting back to work. If you'll excuse me, boys, knitting circles aren't my thing."

It wasn't the first note, as Sam predicted; but Bucky was the only one receiving them. Nearly every day there was a folded-over sticky note with some kind words, often with a flirtatious edge. Bucky considered saying something to Coulson about it, but he kept it to himself, not wanting to get Skye in trouble over something which would no longer be an issue after the work was finished.

Now that the porch had been completed, father and daughter were working on the garden, gloves up to their elbows. It was unseasonably warm, and they all stripped down to undershirts (except Skye, under her father's frown). Bucky wished he could've gone shirtless, but the place where prosthesis met skin was a mess.

The next note he received said that there was no need to be uncomfortable, and no one wanted Bucky to pass out from the heat. He pushed through, however, and the weather soon turned cool again. Coulson and Skye continued to sow seeds for winter plants, and the house looked more and more like a home. Bucky still thought Coulson would be crazy to sell up, especially since it turned out that he was capable of looking after the property, but since Bucky didn't know enough about their situation he couldn't really judge. Maybe the accident had something to do with his decision?

"This is getting serious," Barton said, when they all got together at a bar with only a week left to go of working on the Coulson estate. "How many notes is it now?"

"Twenty-three," Bucky mumbled.

"And they're from Skye?"

"Who else? She's been talkin' to me a lot more—"

"Show me," Barton said. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "C'mon. You've gotta have `em with you."

With a sigh, Bucky drew out the handful of slightly-crumpled notes and dumped them on the tabletop.

"Secret admirers are a high school thing, and she still goes to school," he said. "Shit, I remember sneakin' notes into people's lockers on Valentine's Day."

"Including Steve's, when he was still a skinny punk with no friends except us," Sam added, and Bucky smirked when Steve jabbed Sam in the side with his elbow.

"Hate to break it to you, Barnes," Barton said, "or maybe not, but that's not a teenage girl's handwriting. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't recognise Coulson's writing before, since he's the one who writes our pay slips."

…Okay, that explained why it seemed familiar. Bucky had figured he'd seen notes from Skye to Coulson on the corkboard just inside the front door on that first day, and that's why it'd seemed familiar. Steve took care of their pay slips, since he knew that Bucky was a ditz when it came to remembering responsible stuff.

"Oh," he said.

"But this is good, right?" Barton said. "You like Coulson, right? And he's legal."

"And we _work_ for him," Bucky said.

"Only for another week. Then it'll be on to the next job."

"If I even get one."

"Be positive!"

"I'm _positive_ I won't get a new job right off the bat," Bucky said.

Barton rolled his eyes.

* * *

Now that Bucky knew who his letter-writer was, he was more observant of Coulson's behaviour around him. The way he spent at least two minutes longer talking to Bucky than to anyone else; the way he was quicker to laugh at Bucky's bad jokes; the way he looked at Bucky when he thought he wasn't being noticed. It wasn't the arm? Was this why Skye was being friendlier to him, because she'd seen… _something_ there?

Was this why Bucky actually looked forward to being at the estate every weekday, and hated how the weekend dragged on?

"You're blushing," Steve whispered after Coulson walked back to the garden, where he'd planted some hedges with Skye's help.

"Punk," Bucky said. "I'm not."

"He's gone on you."

"No, he isn't."

"Yes, he is."

"He could do better. He's a classy guy, and I'm… me."

Steve's eyes flashed with irritation, as they usually did when Bucky started getting himself down.

"I don't think men like that write love notes to every attractive man they see," he said, "so stop thinkin' you're not good enough for a guy as nice as Coulson."

Bucky figured there was no point in arguing about this, and instead hoped that Coulson didn't have bat-like hearing.

The end of the week came too soon. They'd finished in good time, and Coulson poured drinks while Skye brought out a huge cake she'd worked on for hours the night before. They toasted the property, set up a tripod and took group pictures, and Coulson provided them with considerable bonuses for getting it all done so quickly and professionally.

"Let us know if you need our services again," Steve said, handing over a business card even though Coulson probably already had one.

"I will," Coulson said. He met Bucky's eyes briefly, before turning to head back to Skye's side. Bucky inhaled sharply when Steve poked him.

" _What_?" he said.

"You missed your cue," Steve said. "Ask him to drinks tonight. It's family night at the place we went to last week, so Skye can come along. Go." He pointed. Well, Bucky had his instructions, and he'd been a damn good soldier, so he marched up the incline until he reached Coulson.

"Uh," he said, blanking when the man glanced up at him. "Hi."

"Are you heading off? Back to town?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We all are. End of a job, so we're gonna relax, have a few drinks." He cleared his throat; he could feel Steve's eyes boring into the back of his head, and the others were watching as well. No pressure, in other words. "Wanna come? Skye's welcome, too. There'll probably be other kids her age around."

"Is it a tradition to ask your former boss along for drinks?" Coulson asked. His cheeks were pink, which made Bucky less nervous.

"Only the cute ones," he said. Coulson's jaw dropped. "Uh… think about it. I'll give you my number."

"Don't worry about that!" Steve called. "I wrote your cell phone number on the back of the card I gave Coulson!"

"I… I see," Coulson said (and Bucky had to find out his first name). He coughed, and Bucky faintly heard Skye chanting 'Yes, yes, yes' in the background. "I'll let you know. Tonight, is it?" Bucky nodded. Words were hard. "Okay. I'll, um…"

"Least I can do for the guy who wasted half a pad of sticky notes on me," Bucky said, and Coulson smiled sheepishly.

"Wouldn't call it a waste," he said. "I was using them on you."

"And, Dad, maybe you can tell Bucky all about this," Skye said, bounding over and clutching her father's arm. Bucky cocked his head, and Coulson sighed as he rolled up the sleeve and stripped off his woollen glove.

A prosthetic limb. Like Bucky.

That explained why it didn't bother him. _And_ why he'd hired professionals.

"Hope you can make it tonight," Bucky said, and Coulson looked relieved.

"I'm sure we can," he said. Skye squealed.

"I'm gonna check your wardrobe for something that isn't a suit," she said, before kissing Coulson on the cheek and running inside.

"I think I'd better stop her before she gets too adventurous," Coulson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you again for all the work you did. I'll, uh, text you for the details later," he added to Bucky.

"Sounds good," Bucky said, beaming, and he tried not to skip as he hurried back to Steve's side and scrambled into the truck.

"You're welcome, jerk," Steve said, climbing into the driver's seat while some of the others piled into the back with their gear. Bucky looked out the window, disappointed that the front door was closed, but hopeful that they'd see Coulson and Skye in a few hours' time.

* * *

 **There we are! For Lumberjack Day and Love Note Day. Couldn't decide between them, so I combined them. Sort of. Didn't want to do another angsty secret admirer fic for this pairing.**

 **Please review!**


	39. Pianissimo

"Pianissimo"

As soon as Phil Coulson reached the counter, May cut him off.

"Nothing new since yesterday," she said when he opened his mouth. "The only sheet music we've had in is elementary school orchestra scores, and Mack hasn't unpacked it yet. Any new stock is percussion-related or stationery. Nothing to interest you."

"On the contrary," he said, and he smiled. "Something new _definitely_ interests me."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Him," Coulson said, nodding towards the piano section, where there was a man perched on one of the stools, playing quiet chords with his right hand.

"What about him?" May asked, frowning. How did she miss him? He must've been good at sneaking to evade her notice.

"Perfect posture, and look at his technique."

The stranger was only playing chords, so May would have to take Coulson's word for it; he knew what he was talking about. She couldn't help teasing him a little.

"And he has a nice ass," she said, making Coulson stutter and blush, and push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Do you talk about all your customers like that?" he hissed.

"We always talk about how nice your ass is after you leave," she replied. She didn't get many opportunities to fluster Coulson, so she was going to make the most if it.

" _May_." He tugged his lumpy tan-coloured sweater down, as if that was going to do anything to hide it.

"Those jeans suit you," she added, and Coulson glared at her.

"I'm going to go talk to him," he said primly, and he walked over to the pianist, still pulling at his sweater.

"You can't hide true quality!" she said, loudly enough for him to hear her, and he glared back over his shoulder.

May knew she had to return to the inventory, but now she was curious. Hunter joined her behind the desk.

"What're we watching?" he asked.

"Coulson and the piano guy," she said.

"Right."

There was a crash of keys as Coulson appeared in front of the piano. He said something to the man playing there, and held out his hand. May noticed something strange cross his face, and then his smile dropped completely as the stranger bolted, the stool tipping over, and it was only by some miracle – or spectacular footwork – that he didn't knock any displays on the way out. Good thing there were few customers. Coulson pushed the stool into place, and then returned to the counter, hands sinking into his pockets. To say he looked glum would be an understatement.

"Well, that went well," he muttered.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Hunter said. Apparently he'd lost his brain-to-mouth filter, and both May and Coulson glared at him. "He ran out of here like the hounds of hell were at his heels."

"Nice alliteration," May said. "And good point. What'd you say to him?"

Coulson shrugged. "I told him it sounded good. Asked him whether he played much. Then I thought I recognised him, so I tried to get a handshake. Then I saw… He's missing an arm. His left arm… it's gone. All of it. The sleeve's pinned up."

"That's why he was playing one-handed," she said.

"Yeah, I guessed that," he said acerbically. May kept her mouth shut. "Then, like Hunter said, he took off before I could even introduce myself."

"You think he used to learn?" May asked. If any customers showed up, Skye could handle them.

"If he did, and somehow lost the arm…" Coulson frowned. "But if he had his own keyboard or piano, wouldn't he play that? Unless there was a fire, like the one… Or he was in an accident, and had to sell some things to pay for medical treatment. That would explain why he doesn't have a prosthesis. Or what if—"

"Coulson."

"…Yes?" He looked agitated, and May sighed.

"You said you recognised him," she said.

"Well, if he's played in public before, that would explain it," he replied. "I'm sure I'd remember playing _with_ him. He has the kind of face you don't forget."

"That handsome, huh?"

"Or I've judged him at a recital," he said, ignoring May's remark. (Although his cheeks were pinker than before.) "I'll look through the programmes at home. I just… noticed him through the window, and wondered whether you knew who he was."

"No idea," May said, now feeling guilty for ribbing Coulson. He seemed interested in this, and losing an arm was traumatic. Hell, Coulson knew that himself. He'd lost his hand and half his lower arm in a fire – probably why it was the first possibility he'd mentioned – and it was only through the grace of Stark Industries that he was able to get a fully-functioning prosthesis. Even then, it took a great deal of therapy before he felt confident enough to play again, let alone get to his previous standard. During recovery and PT, he'd taken to composing and arranging music, and Shield Music stocked all of his published works, which is how May went from being a fan to being a friend.

"I'd better go, then," he said, tapping his fingers idly on the countertop. "See you later, May. Hunter."

"Coulson," they replied, and he strolled out of the store.

* * *

At the music store that afternoon, Simmons answered the phone. May noticed her sigh, and then gesture.

"Of course, Mr. Coulson, she's right here," Simmons said, and May rolled her eyes as she took the phone.

"This is Melinda," she said. "What can I do for you, Mr. Coulson?" It could've been anyone named Coulson, after all. It wasn't necessarily—

"I found out who it is!"

She leaned back against the wall, hoping this wouldn't turn into one of those long, rambling conversations he was prone to if she gave him even half an ear.

"Tell me what you've got," she said.

"Found him in the sixth programme I looked through," he said. "Went from the beginning. He came first place in a recital I attended six years ago. Someone sent me pictures, but his was in the programme, of course. Now I remember. I spoke to him afterwards, told him he had a promising career ahead of him. He was barely out of his teens, took lessons against his father's wishes. Seems they were on at the same time as his friend's art classes, and he wanted to walk the guy home in case of bullies. Thought it was incredibly noble at the time."

"Did he recognise you?"

"I don't think so," Coulson said. "He wasn't interested in playing professionally, at least that's what he said at the time. But I saw how he looked today. I'm trying to remember what else he said." There was a pause. "Damn it, I don't know. And I don't know what happened to him, but I never heard his name after that."

"And you keep track of all the young artists," she said. "I told you you'd make a good mentor."

"I'm too busy writing," he said. "Way too busy. That was the year before…" He trailed off, and May flinched. She remembered it all too well, even though they'd never met until two years ago. (They never discussed the fan mail she sent him the first time she heard a recording of his over the radio.)

"Do you have any idea how you'll track him down?" she asked.

"May—"

"You wouldn't call me _at work_ to talk about this if you'd just solved a mystery," she said. "You want to find him. Are you only curious about what happened to his arm?"

"He has natural talent! It's wasted if he's not playing. I don't know what he's doing right now, but if it doesn't put that same sparkle in his eye then he's wasting his time and depriving the world of… of…" She raised an eyebrow, knowing he'd be able to sense it. "This isn't about pity or… or anything like that. Or curiosity. This is about wanting to…" He trailed off, and she could tell this was different. There was a clatter, footsteps, and then the scrape of a chair across the floor.

Oh no.

He began to play sporadically, and May tried to make herself heard over it. She took the phone into the room behind the counter where they held reserved items, and shouted into the mouthpiece. It took a few tries before she heard a curse, footsteps again, and a curt apology from Coulson. Then he hung up, and she left the room, setting the phone back on its cradle.

"Composing frenzy," she told Simmons. "I think we're gonna have a break from him for a few days."

"Well, he's had a bit of composer's block recently, hasn't he?"

"Which is why we've been seeing him every other day. Let's hope he's writing a symphony or concerto this time; that always takes longer than arranging."

* * *

The first time May saw Coulson's mystery guy – and he didn't even think to tell her the man's name – she approached him carefully. He wasn't disturbing anyone, and she didn't want to scare him off. As long as he didn't think he was being a bother, chances are he would stay. Coulson hadn't been in for four days, so it seemed his composer's block was well and truly gone.

The man stayed for almost a whole hour, playing either chords or simple tunes, all he could do with one hand. She'd seen footage of Coulson when he was younger – under his protest, when she found video recordings at his house – and some of that same talent was visible here, in the way the man's fingers barely seemed to touch the keys and yet created such _music_. They were light, and he made it look so easy, even though she recognised the tune as an attempt at playing Beethoven one-handed.

From one angle, May could see the passion Coulson had mentioned, both love of the music and frustration. She loved the Sonata _Pathetiqué_ , and he grimaced as he tried to tackle the tune. Was it this hard for Coulson after the fire? Was she witnessing the same struggles he went through?

Something tickled her cheek, and she wiped away a few surprise tears. The last time she'd cried was over Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto, when Coulson played it for the shop's tenth anniversary with a bunch of his friends from the city's orchestra.

She was shaken out of her reverie when there was a beeping sound. At first she thought it was a metronome, but realised it was the man's watch. He stopped playing to look at it, swore, and swung around so he could stand. May hurried forward, in case this was her only chance.

"Hello," she said. He startled, and stared at her. "Sorry. I'm Melinda May, manager of Shield Music. You were in here earlier in the week."

"Uh, yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "Didn't mean t' bother anyone."

"You weren't," she said. "A… a friend was wondering about you."

He looked to the side shiftily. "That right? The guy who… who spoke t' me?"

"Yes," she said. "What's your name?"

"B-Bucky."

"Bucky…?"

"Barnes," he said. "Uh, James Barnes. Sergeant. Or… was. Listen, I'm sorry. I won't come back—"

"No, don't!" she said quickly. "I mean, yes. Come back anytime the store's open."

"Not like I can exactly play like this," he said, scowling at the space where his left arm should've been. "I shouldn't've come here. I'm sorry."

"Please," she said. "I think Co… I think he'd like to know how to find you. He met you once. He likes music as well, loves it."

He shifted in place, clutching the strap of his messenger back. "Don't think so."

"Well…" She couldn't give up. "Please, promise me you'll come back and play. It gets so quiet around here at this time of day—"

"I noticed," he said.

"And in the run up to Christmas we're always busier with getting the Christmas stock ready, designing and setting up displays, and arguing about what kind of music to play on the speakers… you'd be doing us a favour if you came in, made sure the pianos are in tune. You don't have to demonstrate for anyone." Barnes kept peeking at the door, and she realised that he would've set his watch alarm for a reason. "You could break up disputes over the decorations we use. Please. Come back? If you have the time…"

"I've got the time, trust me." He took a step towards the door, then turned his head slightly in her direction. "I'll think `bout it."

"Thank you," she said as sincerely as she could. He rounded his shoulders, and shuffled out of the shop.

Well, that was a failure. Unless he took her up on her offer (request; plea) to return and play, she was no closer to knowing how to find him. If Coulson called, what the hell could she tell him?

Damn it, now he'd dragged _her_ into this mystery.

"Fitz!" she snapped at her technician, and he ducked out from where he'd been hiding behind their largest amplifier. "Find out what you can about a James Barnes, or Bucky Barnes, though he probably goes by James."

Sergeant, he'd said. Army. Was _that_ how he'd lost his arm?

"Right away," Fitz said, and he hurried to the staffroom. May strolled back to the counter, pausing only to make sure the piano stool was straight (it was), and wondering how long Barnes had been watching the store before making his move. If he knew this was their least busy part of the day… well, it didn't exactly feel ominous – and who the hell would steal a piano? – but she still felt uneasy. Whether it was sympathy or Coulson's obsession or the mystery itself, she didn't know. And May _hated_ not knowing.

At lunch break, Fitz dropped a bunch of printed pages onto the table in front of May, narrowly avoiding her salad. She pinned him with a glare, and he scooted off. She pulled the papers closer, and read about a young pianist James Barnes, who – as Coulson said – won first place in a competition six years ago, and a few other awards since, before dropping off the musical scene's radar.

Then there was an article from an obscure newspaper, one of those suburban newsletters, about two boys – Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes – joining up to fight overseas. The last few articles and pictures were after they returned, including one in a national newspaper hailing them as heroes. Half their battalion had been taken prisoner, Barnes in one half, Rogers in the other. Rogers's half had managed to rescue most of the prisoners, but it took much longer to find Barnes, who'd refused, under torture, to reveal any information to the enemy about troop movements.

May swallowed the lump in her throat when it was mentioned that part of the torture involved Barnes's arm being cut off bit by bit. He'd been lucky to get out of there alive, Rogers having to carry him out, wound infected to the point where the rest of the arm had to be removed to save Barnes's life. He'd been invalided home. No word on whether Rogers went with him, or where Barnes was staying now.

He'd suffered trauma. PTSD clinics were the first places she should look.

And May was pretty damn sure her husband would know who to ask.

* * *

"There's such a thing as patient confidentiality, Melinda," Andrew said, crossing his arms as he looked down at her. She stared back pointedly. "No."

"Andrew."

"No."

"Please?"

"Melinda!"

"What if Coulson wants to contact him?" she said.

"I don't care what Maestro Coulson wants to do," he said. "You know there's nothing I can do. And _even_ if I found anything, I couldn't tell you, _nor_ could I tell Coulson, or I'd risk losing my—"

"I know," she said. "But I'm not talking about anything in your field. I think that if he was seeing a medical professional, he wouldn't be loitering outside the store, then coming in to play for an hour, before leaving again. There are clinics around, you've told me that before. What if he goes to one of those…"

"Groups?" he said.

"Yes," she said. "Like people who've recently come out of rehab. Is there someone you can check with?"

"It's more than my job's worth, Melinda. I'm sorry."

"Even if it's for a good cause?"

Andrew's eyebrows drew closer together. "Even if I made inquiries, I couldn't tell you anything… _without_ his approval."

"But I'm concerned about him."

"Crap," he muttered. May smirked internally; claiming to be concerned about a person was sometimes the only way to get information. "Fine. I'll ask if anyone knows anything about him; and if they do, I'll give them our number in case he wants to contact us, for _any_ reason. But there's nothing else I can do. Your only alternative is to hire a private investigator, and I'm vetoing that here and now."

"That's okay," she said. "Fitz and Skye are going to stalk him on social media."

"Are you sure your music store isn't the front for some spy organisation?" She pretended to give it some thought.

"I think I would've noticed that by now," she finally said.

* * *

Stalking wasn't necessary. Not when Barnes came in nearly every day, even if it was just for ten minutes. May ensured that there was always an instrument available for him, in case he mistook the slightest inconvenience as a sign that he shouldn't visit.

It'd been more than two weeks since May last heard from Coulson. She had the phone number of one of his neighbours, who'd confirmed the sounds of erratic music, but May went over to Coulson's apartment at least once herself. He didn't answer the door, but she could hear him, and figured that he was probably alright; hadn't descended into madness or anything else dire. So she waited, and then one morning, while Barnes was playing, Coulson hurried into the store. His clothing was rumpled, his hair a mess, and he was clutching his worn music bag to his chest. They all stopped and stared as he made a beeline for the occupied piano.

"Hi," he said, dumping his music on the top of the upright grand. Barnes jumped as though a bomb had gone off, and May flinched at the reminder that he was a returned soldier. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you off last time… or startle you just then. I never got the chance to introduce myself." He held out his hand. This time, with only a few seconds' hesitation, Barnes shook it, pulling back again quickly. Coulson didn't seem put off. "My name is Phil. Mind if I sit?"

Barnes shook his head, and scooted over when Coulson moved to his left. He didn't say anything as Coulson took a sheaf of papers out of his bag and spread them over the music stand.

"What's this?" Barnes said. The mild wariness in his tone belied the tension visible throughout his entire body.

"Music," Coulson said. "Try to keep up."

"Wha—"

But Coulson was already playing, though May couldn't see how he was working the pedals without bumping into Barnes. More of the Phil Coulson magic, she could only guess. It wasn't until Barnes tentatively started playing along that she recognised the 'New World' Symphony by Dvorak. She'd only ever heard orchestral arrangements, and it didn't match what she'd heard Coulson composing, but he'd clearly arranged it as a piano duet for three hands. Not four.

This was why she loved Coulson. It wasn't his talent, but his love of helping and pleasing people. He was a genuinely good person, despite his heart condition, and the fire which could've killed him from the stress alone, not to mention the ex he'd driven away after too many fights over their conflicting musical careers.

"Sounds beautiful, doesn't it?" Bobbi asked, bumping May's arm. "Hot damn."

"Their styles are similar," May said.

"They're great together. Imagine what they could do if…" May knew what she was thinking. If Barnes had two arms, could they be even better?

Unfortunately, he'd only arranged an excerpt from the symphony, the part everyone recognised, which meant that the music was over too soon. Barnes was silent, which Coulson ignored (possibly on purpose) as he sifted through sheets of printed music.

"Would you like to play some more?" Coulson asked. Barnes took awhile to reply.

"You… happened to have three-handed arrangements lying around?" he said.

"Of course not," Coulson said. "I only have two hands, and I'm not bendy enough to play with a foot as well."

"Well, that's gonna break Hunter's mind when I tell him," Bobbi muttered.

"If I time it well enough, I'll get Andrew to walk into a wall," May replied.

"Why would you…" Barnes paused, and held one of the sheets closer. "Wait. Coulson. You're… are you _Phil Coulson_?"

Coulson cleared his throat. "Uh, yes," he said, and he adjusted his glasses. "I know I look kind of different out of concert dress."

"I'll say," May said, and Bobbi snickered.

"I… I didn't know it was you," Barnes said.

"Sometimes telling people who I am comes with a lot of expectations," Coulson said, "or uncomfortable questions if they remember…" He tugged up his left sleeve, displaying the prosthesis May had only seen properly a few times. Barnes touched it, running his fingers along the surface May knew to be flawlessly smooth.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Prosthetic limb," Coulson said. "Goes up to here."

"What happened?"

"Fire. Electrical fault. Smoke alarm worked fine, and the fire was only small when I tried to fight it. Good thing neighbours called the fire department, because… well, I'm a pianist, not a fireman. Fighting fire isn't my forte. That would be fighting hemi-demi-semi-quavers." Barnes laughed hoarsely, and May found herself leaning against Bobbi, head tilted as she watched the scene.

"The fire was close to the piano, which I was trying to protect, of course," Coulson continued. "Instead the flames got to the TV, there were more sparks, and… I'm not sure what happened next. They got me out of there, but not before burning wires caught me. I think I passed out, and my arm got trapped." He shook his head. "Took a long time to recover. I took up composing and arranging during therapy, because everyone was adamant that I not give up music. I don't think I could if I tried, to be honest." He tapped the prosthesis. "Metal actually moves better than plastic. With padding on the ends to reduce the clicking sound, and a flesh-like covering, you'd almost never know."

"Doesn't stop you playing," Barnes said. He hadn't let go of Coulson's hand yet, and Coulson didn't seem to mind.

"Cole Porter couldn't work the pedals of a piano, and Beethoven went deaf," he said.

"Comparin' yourself to them, are ya?"

"Comparing _you_ to them," Coulson said. Barnes ducked his head, and moved his hand away.

"They still had both their hands," he said softly.

"Yes, but computer software can be used with one hand. And as I've just shown you, anything is possible."

Barnes's lips twitched at the corners. "That was… amazing. I haven't felt anything like that since…"

Coulson cocked his head. "May I ask what happened?"

"Enemy soldiers." Barnes exhaled through his teeth. "They took exception to me not tellin' `em anything. Thought cuttin' my arm to pieces might make me talk. I kinda went catatonic instead, like I'd've given the assholes the satisfaction anyhow."

"I'm sorry."

"So were they when the others came for me."

"I think you're incredibly brave."

"…One time, didn't you talk t' me? At that thing where I got first prize?"

Coulson chuckled. "You remember that? Yeah, I gushed over your performance."

"Didn't stop me from joinin' the army. But I wasn't gonna let my best friend got it without me. Punk always gets himself into scrapes. Live with him at the moment."

"Can I have your number? So we can maybe play together again sometime? I'm meeting my agent later, to go over the suite I just finished writing last night, and hand in the commissions I've been working on." He smiled sheepishly. "Otherwise I'd be happy to stay longer."

"No, that's fine," Barnes said. "Uh… or maybe I can call you instead?"

Coulson's smile faltered, but he nodded. He reached into his bag and pulled out one of the many business cards he kept to hand, and gave it to Barnes.

"I hope I hear from you soon," he said, and he slid off the piano stool, grabbing his bag as he went. "Goodbye, Mr. Barnes." He gave Bobbi and May a sharp look, and Bobbi hurried back to her work. May returned his look. "May."

"Coulson," she said. As soon as he'd left, she frowned at Barnes, who was fingering the edge of the card. "Break his heart and you'll wish you were a POW again."

He gaped as she strode back to the counter, where a customer was waiting.

* * *

By some miracle, Barnes and Coulson met up again at Shield Music. Maybe the ex-soldier had taken May's threat to heart? Both men seemed happier, playing the pieces Coulson arranged, and May pretended not to know about the betting pool on when Barnes would twig to the flirting. If he'd noticed and was ignoring it, or pretending not to notice it for some reason, he was doing a damn good job. Not that Coulson was pushing him; but he looked at Barnes with stars in his eyes, and got to know when to pull back instead of pressing on.

One day, however, Coulson carried in a long case, definitely not for an instrument, and sat beside Barnes. He propped music up on the stand, but before they could start playing he rested the case on his knees and opened it up. May was in a prime position, working with the music-note tinsel up high, and could see what looked like part of a robot… an arm. Like his, but without the sleeve that made it look like skin. She lithely leapt down the ladder and crept closer.

"It's a prototype like the one I have," Coulson was saying. Barnes was leaning over and studying the prosthesis. "Except for the full left arm. If you come in for measurements sometime, then… he did a good job. You've seen me play. It takes time and practise, like learning a new instrument, but one day, maybe…" He sighed, and scratched the back of his head. "You'd expressed an interest."

"But this'd be… way too much," Barnes said. "More than I can afford."

"You're ex-military, and Stark owes me another favour. Even if he didn't, I've been thinking. You want to get back in the game, right? Play professionally?"

"It'd be a… a dream come true, Phil." May's eyebrows jumped. First name basis? When did that happen?

"I had an idea, not that I've run it by Stark or anyone else yet. A concert of piano duets. The two of us. Both with prostheses designed and built by Stark Industries. It would be a great selling point. I'm sure Stark would field the costs… Bucky?"

"It's…" She could see Barnes trembling. "To make money?"

"What?"

"This is all so you could make money? Jesus Christ, Phil, profiting from other people's personal loss is… is… it's despicable!" He jumped up and away from the piano stool, almost knocking it over again, and May stepped forward at the same time as Phil. "You saw me with one arm and thought 'Hey, I know, if we both had fake arms and played the piano what a great gimmick that would be!'?"

"No, Bucky—"

"What else am I s'posed t' think? I barely know you. People don't _do_ this kinda thing outta the goodness of their heart for people they don't know. I _knew_ there was a reason you were hangin' around me. Shit, I even thought maybe you had a… a thing for me, but it was all for…" He pursed his lips and looked away. Everyone was quiet, and when Coulson moved closer, protesting, Barnes waved him back. "No! I don't wanna hear it. Take your charity an' all its strings elsewhere, an' leave me alone."

"Bucky—"

Barnes shook his head as he grabbed his bag and stormed out of the store. Coulson started to follow, then pulled himself up short and sank onto the piano stool.

"That went well," Skye said. May narrowed her eyes and Coulson scowled. Wide-eyed, she disappeared so fast it was like magic. Sighing, May perched on the edge of the stool beside Coulson.

"You could've broken that more gently," she said.

"This didn't go at all like I imagined," he muttered. "Too damn optimistic for my own good. Any time I tried to imagine it going badly, my mind wouldn't let me go there. _Damn it_!" He ground the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I wanted to help him. He had so much promise, and no one seemed to be there for him like they were for me after the fire. I shouldn't have gotten involved, but—"

"You're a good person, and he doesn't know that," May said, wishing she was better at comforting people. "But you tried to explain it here? In public? Why not at his place, or yours, where you could've forced him to stay and listen?"

"This is the only place I've ever met him since… since that first day." Coulson slumped over, before immediately correcting his posture. "Maybe an appointment with Stark would've been better?"

"From what you've told me about him, I'm pretty sure Tony Stark would only make everything worse," she said.

"He's not so bad."

"Oh?"

Coulson was silent for a minute, and May noticed Skye dealing with the tinsel, probably to make up for her flippant remark. Good. Except that May was apparently in charge of consoling her friend.

"Try again after he's had time to cool down," she said. "Or approach his best friend first. We'll have to call off the betting pool if this doesn't get resolved."

"Betting pool?" He peered at her. "Do I want to know?"

"No."

"Okay."

* * *

Every couple of days Coulson would visit the store, and the other days he'd call to find out whether Barnes had been in. He hadn't, and May predicted that it'd be at least two weeks before he came back. In the meantime, any time he did come in, he'd start off playing something recognisable and cheerful, before descending into something mournful, and possibly composed on the spot. May had taken to sending him into the staffroom with Hunter whenever the other customers began to look uncomfortable. (They were friends, but she refused to lose business because he had a broken heart.)

It turns out that she'd been uncharacteristically optimistic as well. Weeks went by without a sign of Barnes, and they all began to fear that he wasn't coming back. And damn Coulson, but they were all invested in this now. They talked about it during work and outside of work hours, especially with the large Christmas order leading to over-time. Andrew brought work with him the one day that May sent everyone home on time so she could do inventory. He kept her company and caffeinated, and was there when someone pounded at the front door.

"I'll see who it is," May said, and she walked into the main part of the store.

"I told you I could see lights on!" Tony Stark said, waving from the doorway, with Barnes standing behind him. May frowned as she opened the door. "I told Buckaroo I could see lights on. He didn't want to come in, but Coulson told me about this place, and this is fate. You must be May, can I call you May? Hi, Tony Stark. This here is Bucky Barnes, but I guess you already know that?"

"Hello, Barnes," May said.

"Hi," he mumbled. Stark didn't seem to notice the tension.

"Why are you open so late?" he asked.

"We're not," May said. "I'm doing inventory."

"That means it'll just be us. Perfect! I don't like a big audience when I'm testing new things. Or testing things I'd already made but haven't seen in action yet." He pulled Barnes into the store and over to the pianos. "Okay, pick one. We're gonna test this baby out. Hey, it was May, right? Or April? June?"

"May," she said.

"Can we get some lights on? Thanks. Sit down, Buckster. Don't worry, I'll reimburse you for the inconvenience. Besides, I'll bet he plays like an angel, especially with his new toy. Show her off, Sarge."

He gently shoved Barnes towards one of the pianos, and May noticed the way he steadied himself with his left arm. The left arm he didn't usually have. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Andrew appeared at her elbow.

"That's the Bucky Barnes I've been hearing about?" he said quietly. May nodded.

"Come on, give her a spin," Stark said. Barnes removed his glove, flexing the same shiny metal limb Coulson had brought in over a month ago. There were coverings on the ends of the fingers, similar to Coulson's. He placed his hands gingerly on the keys, and May stiffened as the left one came down to hard when he tried to play. He nearly bolted like he did on that first day, but Stark clamped down on his shoulders.

"I know, I know," Barnes said. "Gentler."

"And take your time."

"No more than fifteen minutes," May said. "Inventory's nearly done."

"We're good out here," Stark said, waving vaguely at her. "Go on, Buck-Buck."

Barnes grimaced at the nickname, and May couldn't blame him. Nevertheless, he tried again, and again, while Stark switched his attention between the arm, Barnes, and something he was reading on a small monitor. Slowly the music became less stilted and uneven, and May leaned into Andrew's hold as it soothed her. At the end of something familiar – could have been Chopin – Barnes stopped, and he looked up at Stark as he flexed the mechanical arm again.

"Was that enough?" he asked.

"Plenty," Stark said. "I'll go over the readings tonight and get you to come back in for a fitting tomorrow. You thought over that concert idea yet? You and Coulson should play together. I like the novelty of two of my butterflies in concert." He winked at May and Andrew. "In concert. Get it?"

"This is a music store," May said dryly. "We _all_ get it."

"Eh, it was worth a try," he said.

"Coulson… already told me," Barnes said stiltedly. "About the concert."

"I never told him about it," Stark said. "You mean he came up with the same idea as me?" He grinned. "Great minds think alike. Don't tell him I said that, though. I get the impression he hates me." His voice took on a bitter note.

"He doesn't hate you," May said. "He said, and I quote, 'He's not that bad'. But you didn't hear it from me."

Stark brightened. "Okay, Buck Rogers, off with the arm. It still doesn't fit as well as I'd like, and I'd prefer you be with comfortable with it before you start wearing it regularly. I'll drop you at your apartment on the way home."

"I'll finish up out back," May said. They'd been there for half an hour, and Stark flinched when he looked at his watch.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Do you take credit cards?"

"Yes."

"Great. Does your hubby know how to work a cash register?"

"You bet I do," Andrew said, smiling. May wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that he seemed to like Stark. She retreated to the back, trusting Andrew to take care of things, when Barnes ran to her side.

"Don't tell Phil," he said.

"He's been here or calling me _every day_ since you left," she said, unable to contain all her anger. "You hurt him, Barnes. You broke his heart."

He looked uncomfortable. "Wouldn't say I broke his heart," he said.

"You really didn't see it? Well, damn, I won that bet."

"But…" He turned pale. "He didn't think of me like _that_ , did he?"

"I don't know whether you're straight or gay or bi," May said. "But you obviously missed all the clues he was giving you, so I'm thinking straight."

"Mostly. Pretty much. I… I'd never thought of him that way. He was being nice to me, that's all."

"Because he's a nice guy," she said. "Some people are like that. I know you lost your arm in more traumatic circumstances than Phil, but he's been trying to give you the kind of help he received after the accident, and I'll lay any odds that he would've covered the full cost of the prosthesis himself and was using the concert as a cover so you _wouldn't_ think it was charity."

"…Oh."

"And now he knows your opinion of him, and how low it is."

Barnes fidgeted in place, staring at the floor. "This is the arm… he gave it back to Stark. I didn't know until I got there. He'd commissioned it specially for me. I'm… I'm not used to this kind of attention. No one I know could ever afford this."

"A real Cinderella story," May said. Barnes's cheeks turned pink. "What are you going to do? Coulson deserves better than this."

"I know."

"Call him."

"…I guess I should."

* * *

May didn't tell Coulson about the visit, no matter how much she wanted to. She hadn't promised Barnes that she'd keep his appearance secret, but she didn't want to lie to Coulson, and she owed more to him than she did to Barnes. Fortunately for her, either Barnes called him, or he'd simply given up, because when she next heard from Coulson it was when he wandered into the store a few days later and stared blankly at the sheet music. Barnes crept into the store, and hesitated before approaching Coulson. Some of the regular customers had heard about the saga by now, so they were all watching with bated breath as well.

"P-Phil?"

It took a few seconds, before Coulson's eyes widened and he spun around.

"Bucky!" he blurted out. "W-what're you doing here?"

"Wanted to say I was, uh, sorry," Barnes said. "And thank you."

"For what?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" Barnes raised his left arm, the metal now covered in flesh-coloured material. "I, uh, could use some expert help. Haven't had much of a chance to play with it on, and I don't have my own piano. Do… d'you have one? At your place? I don't wanna keep imposin' on the people here, and I figured… maybe I could bring takeout…"

"Takeout?"

"Sustenance. So we can practise for the concert."

"Concert?"

"The one you suggested?" Barnes said. "Seems as good a way as any to get back into the swing of performing in front of other people. You know, paying people. And it'll make you happy. And… _I_ want you to be happy. I wanna make you happy."

"Bucky." Coulson checked himself before he could lean on the sheet music and crush it. "This isn't about me—"

"Part of it is. It's about both of us. _Us_ , Phil. If… if you still wanna do the concert, then there's nothing else I'd rather do."

He inhaled slowly. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Barnes said.

* * *

May refused free tickets, but she allowed Coulson to give all the staff a discount, and closed early the day of the concert to make sure they'd have time to get ready, have dinner, and get to the venue. There was an orchestra and two pianos on stage. It took months to plan, plenty of time for Barnes to get used to playing with the new arm, and for them to get used to playing on separate pianos. Coulson used some of the time to compose and arrange, and they spent weeks rehearsing with the orchestra.

They started with his arrangements of some of the more well-known pieces, including ballet music by Prokofiev and _The Blue Danube_ by Strauss Junior. There was also a medley of instrumental music from operas, followed by a short interval.

Then the highlight of the evening: Coulson's new symphony, number three, 'The Red Star'. It was more of a concerto for two pianos, but he told the audience (after an encore of the final movement) that this was the only time the symphony would be played with pianos, and that he would be premiering the proper symphony next season. They had to perform a second encore, this time Coulson and Barnes on one piano improvising their own variations on Mozart's _Ah vous dirai-je, Maman_. There was some laughter as they debated while playing, excusing cross-hands, and the audience loved the banter.

When the men took their bows at the end, May noticed their fingers brushing together, and the way they stood much closer, but then it was no surprise to her. She'd seen plenty of looks between them whenever they visited Shield Music, and she had a feeling that there'd be no more solo concerts for either of them.

* * *

 **I liked doing all of this from May's perspective. It was fun.**

 **Thanks to all the support I received for this on Tumblr, especially thestanceyg, who loved it from the beginning. This was for Piano Month… so, naturally, I didn't actually finish it until late on the last day. *Rolls eyes***

 **Please review!**


	40. Lola

"Lola"

Phil hummed as he polished the left side mirror of his corvette. He had her parked far away from Stark's classic car collection, even though he had a new area for testing his Iron Man suits. There was no way Phil was risking his baby because of a reckless billionaire with the mother of all mid-life crisis penis cars (i.e. the suit).

"Hey, Phil!"

He nearly slipped, and blushed as he looked over his shoulder at Bucky. Phil wasn't used to the others seeing him up close in his work overalls, and he could only hope that Bucky wasn't about to burst out laughing.

"Hi," he said. "Uh… what brings you here?"

"You haven't seen my new sweetheart, have you?" Bucky asked. Phil gulped, turning back to Lola. Bucky had a girlfriend? He didn't know that. "Come meet her."

"Oh. I'm, uh, not exactly dressed for—"

Bucky laughed. "She won't care. C'mon." He jerked his head, and Phil had no choice but to follow, wishing he could stay behind with Lola instead of meeting a woman he'd have to pretend to like while secretly hating her guts… He was a bad person.

"What's her name?" Phil inquired, wringing the polishing cloth in his hands.

"Pip," Bucky said. "Short for Pippa." He led Phil to what looked like a bike covered in a drop sheet. He swept it off, and Phil nearly dropped the rag he was holding.

"Wow," he said.

"Pippa, this is Phil," Bucky said, and he stroked along the seat the way Phil wouldn't mind Bucky stroking his back… Bad place for his mind to go. "Phil, this is Pippa."

"Hello, Pippa," Phil said, feeling slightly ridiculous and extremely relieved. (Repeat: he was a bad person.) "She's beautiful, Bucky."

"Why'd you call your car Lola?" Bucky said, leaning back against his motorcycle and crossing his arms. "No one seems to know. Tony said it was after a song, but there's more than one song with a character called Lola."

Phil reminded himself of where Steve and Bucky grew up, but it didn't really help.

"When I was a kid, I went through a phase," he said. "Dressing in my sister's clothes. I was the only boy… I don't know whether that had anything to do with it. My dad got me doing things like working on cars, typical 'boys' activities. I'm not interested in women's clothes anymore – and suits are more practical – but my oldest sister was a fan of The Kinks, and I never forgot the song. The red was her favourite shade."

He could tell that Bucky wanted to ask where his family was, but Phil gave him a Look, and it kept his trap shut. For a few seconds.

"Wanna know why I named her Pippa?" he said.

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway," Phil said. "And I'd appreciate you keeping quiet about why I named…" He wasn't sure how to word it, but he didn't need to, because Bucky nodded, and whispered a promise.

"Her name's short for Phillippa," he explained. "The others have been on my case, especially Steve. He doesn't do subtle well. Last week he told me to, and I quote, 'Go ride the hell out of Phil already'." He smirked. "Was gonna get a bike anyway, an' this way if you said no to a date, at least I'd have a Phillippa to straddle. Had to go with a girl's name, after all. Almost went with Filly, but that would've been even less subtle than Steve."

"I'm… I'm _sorry_?" Did he mishear? Didn't seem like it, judging by Bucky's red cheeks.

"I wanna step out with you," he mumbled.

"Wait. Wait, you bought a bike, and you named her – obscurely – after me? All because Steve said you should… I mean, did he mean another Phil?"

"What other Phil do we know?"

That was a very good question. Still… "I don't know all your friends. What about the people at the group you attend?"

"Look, if you're not interested—"

"No! I am. I just…" Phil clutched the rag to his chest. "When you brought me over here I thought you were about to introduce me to your girlfriend. Forgive me for taking awhile to process this."

"Oh." Bucky cleared his throat. "Yeah, I see how that could be confusing. I'll let you think it over."

"You realise that your motorbike's going to be joining you in my dreams now, don't you? Straddling her, indeed." He groaned, shoving the cloth into his overalls pocket, and Bucky snickered.

"I regret nothing," he said, and he slid onto the seat. "Play your cards right and maybe _you'll_ end up between my legs later."

"D-don't forget your helmet," Phil said, and he retreated to Lola, walking stiffly thanks to Bucky's inappropriate comments, and the images they evoked.

"I never forget protection!" Bucky called across the garage.

* * *

 **For Name Your Car Day. Please review!**


	41. MESSAGE FROM AUTHOR

Hello.

I've been on ffnet since 2009, and have posted over 2 million words of fan fiction in that time. However, I regret to inform you that, due to several mirror sites which have been created for the purposes of spamdexing, I am taking down my stories from this website. The mirror sites carry viruses, and the creators are making money from other people's hard work without permission. If someone searches for my stories online and ends up on one of those sites, I refuse to take responsibility for it. But I also wish to lessen the chances of that happening.

So, for the safety of my readers and because I'm pissed off that these hacker types are making money off me without my permission, I'm removing all my stories from this website by the end of the month.

You can still find me on Adult Fan Fiction, and I've posted a hell of a lot of stories on Archive Of Our Own. I'll continue to post on those sites. AO3 has my fan fiction from the following fandoms: Marvel, 'Sherlock', Miss Marple, and crossovers involving Marvel and other fandoms. My 'Labyrinth' and Harry Potter fan fiction will take awhile to post on there, and I'll probably try to tidy up some of the stories. But if you wish to continue following me, that's the place to do it.

I'm also on Tumblr under the same name, so look me up there sometime.

Thank you all so much for your support, especially those who've followed me since the beginning. If these circumstances upset you, please go to Fiction Press. They haven't done a damn thing about taking down the other sites. I'm sure a flood of complaints won't make a difference, but in case it does, feel free to harass them.

Love,

Celia.


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